If It All Falls Down
by LadyWallace
Summary: Sam suffers head trauma during a hunting accident and falls into a coma. If that isn't bad enough, Dean worries that the wall protecting Sam from his memories of hell might have fallen due to the injury and Sam might be caught in a continuous nightmare, reliving everything Dean hoped he would never remember. Set late Season 6 Co-written with AnastaziaDanielle
1. Chapter 1

**Hey** **everyone! Here's another fic that I co-wrote with AnastaziaDanielle; since "Life's Little Surprises" we also wrote another one called "Not Right Now" which is posted on her profile if you want to check it out. Anyway, this story is set during Season 6 after 6x14. Nothing AU to report apart from the scenario, so in show verse, Sam has been 're-souled' and everything of that nature. Please leave a review and let us know what you think :)**

 **Disclaimer: We don't own the boys, but we sure wish we could hug them.**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

If It All Falls Down

A Supernatural Fanfic

Chapter One

Dean glanced over to the passenger seat of the Impala, watching Sam as he dozed lightly, his arm against the window, pillowing his cheek. It had been nearly a month now since he had gotten his soul back, and Dean still had to remind himself that he actually did have his brother back to normal—or whatever normal for them was, anyway. At least Sam wasn't an uncaring psychopath without a scrap of scruples to be found anymore. He would never get over the feeling of hearing Sam sympathize with a victim again and use tact and those puppy eyes to reassure the people they were trying to help. It had been exhausting for Dean to have to play both roles, and that was definitely a huge factor as to why he was glad Sam was back to normal.

But of course, it went beyond that to the simple fact he was just glad to have his brother back. Soulless Sam had scared the crap out of him, even if he would never admit that to anyone, and having normal Sam, his Sammy, back made him feel whole again. Yeah, it was stupid and girly to think like that, but he couldn't help if that was how he felt. He just knew he and his little brother worked better as a team and they hadn't been when Sam couldn't care less whether Dean lived or died. Whether he had actually been a better hunter or not, Dean wouldn't trade his Sam for the world.

But this didn't come without worries either. Death had warned Dean that if Sam scratched the 'wall' he had put up to keep Sam's memories of hell locked away, there could be consequences. And after that job with those spider freaks where Sam had been forced into having flashbacks of his previous case in the town, resulting in a physical collapse, Dean had been watching him more closely than ever. He knew they should be taking it easy, and he also knew that Sam wasn't going to have that, but if anything like that happened again, Dean was going to force him into a sabbatical if he had to. It had been one of the worst moments in his life seeing Sam lying on the ground, thinking he had lost him again—and that was saying something considering their lives. He had not forgotten to look on Cas' face when the angel told him Sam's soul felt like it had been skinned alive. The thought of what his brother might have endured made Dean sick, and he would do anything for Sam not to have to remember that. He had been a wreck when he came back from hell, and he knew Sam had endured worse.

But worrying wasn't going to help anything. They were on their way back to Bobby's after another case Sam had found for them. Dean was ready to take a few days' rest, but they wouldn't be back in South Dakota until tomorrow. One more night in a sleazy motel and hopefully, Sam wouldn't look at too many newspapers in the meantime.

Dean left Sam sleeping when he pulled into a motel and went to get a room for the night. The younger Winchester started as Dean closed the door again to drive over to their room. He stifled a yawn and looked around, somewhat dazed.

"We stopping already?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean told him. "You were asleep for a few hours. You hungry?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded and they carried their bags into the room before heading across the street to a diner. Dean watched his brother closely as he ordered a soup and salad, and made sure he was eating. At least his appetite had seemed to be fine despite the ordeal. Maybe due to the fact that soulless Sam had hardly eaten anything or slept, like, at all. Sam finally caught him checking up though and gave a little annoyed sigh through his nose.

"Dean, I'm alright. I promise."

"Just making sure," Dean said defensively. "Because collapsing the other day wasn't you being alright."

"I know," Sam admitted quietly. "But I haven't felt bad since, and I think it was just due to stress and remembering so much."

"Yeah, exactly," Dean replied grimly, dropping a French fry back onto his plate, suddenly finding it less than appetizing. "Sam, if you start remembering too much from the time you were soulless, you could start remembering hell next and everyone has said it will turn you into a puddle of jello. I don't want that, and I don't think you do either."

"No, Dean," Sam sighed tiredly. "I don't. And I promise I won't try to remember anything unless I have to. I'll let you know if something's wrong."

"You had better," Dean told him. "With everything else we have to think about, I can't be worrying you'll drop into a coma at any second when I need you at my back."

Sam offered him a tired but reassuring smile. "I've always got your back, Dean. Despite what soulless me might have led you to believe." He winced, thinking back to what Cas had told him about his less than greatest hits while he was walking around without a soul.

Dean smiled back. "Yeah, I know. I trust you. I just think you should take it easy for a little longer, is all I'm saying. And no revisiting old hunting grounds."

"Don't worry, I'm not looking forward to doing that again any time soon," Sam said wryly.

They went back to the motel after dinner and Sam sat at the table with his computer while Dean idly flipped channels on the TV, the usual set up for the Winchesters. It felt good, familiar, and for a moment, Dean was able to think this was just another routine day in their lives. That he wasn't worrying about the sudden influx of monsters running around, and that his brother could become a drooling vegetable if he thought too hard about past events.

"Hey, Dean," Sam called.

"Hm?" Dean hummed, not looking up from the TV.

"It sounds like there might be a haunting a few towns over. Hitchhiker maybe. Drivers have been reported to see a figure in the road, which they then swerve to avoid and crash. They say they lose completely control of their cars, as if everything locks up or something. Those who survive, that is. Locals have put it down to a lunatic running around, but the police have found no traces of anyone in the vicinity."

Dean sighed. "Sammy, I thought we were going to take a knee for a while."

"Dean, three people have died already in the last two months and several others have been critically injured," Sam said. "These cases usually aren't that hard to figure out; it would likely be a routine salt and burn. It would take another day or two at the most."

Dean chewed his lip. On the one hand, he knew it was their duty, and it was true that it would probably be an easy job, but he was just worried about Sam overworking himself. Of course, just hearing his previously soulless brother worried for the safety of anyone again did make Dean feel a little better.

"Alright, fine, we'll check it out tomorrow," Dean caved, knowing Sam wouldn't let this go and deciding it was better than dealing with his sulking.

Sam nodded in satisfaction and did a little more research before he climbed into bed, looking exhausted. He sprawled out on his stomach, his feet hanging off the too-short bed and was asleep almost instantly. Dean watched him a few minutes before he went to take a quick shower and change into sleep clothes.

When he came out of the shower, he heard a slight moan and saw Sam twitching in the bed, half curled on his side. Dean hurried over to him, and carefully put a hand on his back, not knowing how he would react. Sam flinched at the contact, but didn't wake up, seeming to be caught in a nightmare. Dean rubbed his hand between his shoulder blades soothingly and spoke to him quietly.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm here." This had always worked to calm him down as a kid, and it still seemed to do the trick because Sam sighed in his sleep and relaxed again, burying his face in his pillow. Dean watched him a few more minutes, still rubbing his back before he pulled the covers over Sam's shoulders and then got into his own bed, hoping his brother wouldn't suffer another nightmare. Who knew what sorts of memories could be unlocked while he slept?

The next morning, they set off for the town where the possible hitchhiker was supposed to be. Sam still looked a little tired but Dean didn't push the subject of nightmares. He hoped they were just nightmares and not memories.

It was around noon when they got to the town, and as usual, they did a little researching, Sam going to the library to look into current news articles to get more information and Dean asking around to see what the locals had to say. They regrouped for dinner at a restaurant beside their motel to share what they had found out.

"So it sounds like there is some suspicion about what's going on out on the road at night," Dean said, sitting down at the table. "All the people I talked to seem to think there's some local legend about a guy who crashed particularly badly after being run off the road. Or that's how the story goes, anyway. Nothing was ever proven and the police couldn't make any real headway in the case. What did you find out?"

Sam nodded. "I found some info that backs that theory up. About five years ago, there was a crash reported, a man named Jacob Hunt. Apperently, a few days before the crash he was convinced someone was out to get him, but no one believed his story. Until he crashed the car on a seemingly empty road one night when he was reportedly sober."

"Well, unsolved cases and unresolved justice usually make a vengeful spirit," Dean said. "I guess we should find out where he was buried and go salt and burn tonight."

"Problem—he was cremated," Sam informed him. "I think we might have to check out the site of the crash. There might be something left there that the police missed."

"Great," Dean sighed before smiling at the waitress who came to take their order. "First, though, dinner."

Once the town was pretty much asleep for the night, Sam and Dean left the hotel and drove down to the highway out of town, to the site of the crash. It was eerily lonely, as if everyone had decided to give it a wide berth due to the current misfortunes. A smart call, Dean thought.

"How much farther?" he asked Sam who was watching the mile markers pass.

"Just up ahead, according to the report," the younger Winchester informed him.

"Just hope we find what we need to," Dean grunted. "You might not think you need a rest, but I do and I wasn't even soulless for the better part of a year and a half."

Sam huffed a laugh. "Don't worry, you can get your beauty sleep when we get back to Bobby's."

Just then the radio flitted out, running to static after flipping through the stations for a few seconds. Dean tapped it on instinct, before he looked at Sam knowingly.

"I think we're here," Sam told him needlessly.

"Ya think?" Dean snarked.

"Dean!" Sam suddenly shouted, looking ahead again.

Dean flicked his gaze back to the road and saw a man standing there. Despite his instinct to swerve, Dean stepped harder on the gas and drove the Impala right through the figure who dissipated into mist. Dean slammed on the brakes and turned the car around to head back to the site of the accident.

"Well, at least we know we were right," Dean told him. "Not quite a hitchhiker, but we definitely have a ghost on our hands."

"Let's go check out the site of the crash and see if there's anything the ghost might be attached to," Sam told him.

Dean continued back to the curve in the road he had recognized from the pictures on the newspaper, when the radio flickered again and he felt the air temperature suddenly drop in the car, his and Sam's breath misting in front of them.

"Not good," Sam commented just as Dean felt a shift in the Impala. The engine revved, and the wheel jerked in his hands.

"Oh no you don't!" Dean growled in anger, trying to wrestle the steering wheel away from the ghost as he slammed on the brake. Nothing happened, and the car only sped down the road faster, the speedometer reading up to 75. "You get your ghosty mitts off my baby!"

But it was all to no avail. The ghost was not going to let go of the car, and Dean saw the corner of the road coming up and knew the only thing left to do was brace for impact. He cast a quick glance over at his brother.

"Hold on, Sam," he breathed before the ghost drove the car off the road at high speed and into the ditch. The Impala almost became airborne before it dipped down into the ditch and flipped onto its back in a crunch of metal and breaking glass. Dean was flung against the roof, hitting his head and shoulder before blacking out.

When he came too, he was lying on his back on the upturned roof of the Impala, one arm filled with glass shards from the window and his right leg twisted painfully between his body and the top of the seat. He groaned, trying to take stock of his body to see if anything was broken. He hurt a lot, but he didn't think anything was busted. What he was really worried about was his brother.

He took a deep breath and ended up coughing, his whole chest and back lighting with pain from the battering he had taken. "Sam?" he croaked, trying to force his eyes open for the first time to look for his brother. "Sammy?"

He shifted, feeling glass dig into his back and hands, but he didn't care. He looked over to the passenger side and saw only Sam's legs still in the car, the rest of him having gone through the windshield.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, forcing his body up and awkwardly crawling up his brother's body to find his head, instantly grateful he hadn't been crushed by the car itself. "Always looking after us, Baby," Dean had to mutter in relief as he put a careful hand on Sam's chin and turned his face around so he could look at him, checking his pulse as he did so, breathing another prayer of thanks his brother was alive.

However, he revealed a bloody lump on Sam's temple that was matting the hair to his cheek. Dean quickly looked over the rest of his body, seeing cuts from the glass, and thinking his wrist might be broken for it was swollen and at a slightly odd angle.

"Sammy, come on, wake up," Dean coaxed his brother, patting his cheek gently. Once he made sure there weren't worse injuries, he started to slide Sam out from under the car, his own body protesting, but he wanted more room to check Sam over, worried that he hadn't woken yet.

As he pulled him out into the moonlight, he noticed more blood than he had thought there was on Sam's head. Cautiously, Dean touched the back of his brother's head and felt the wet, stickiness that matted his hair all on one side. He knew head wounds bled badly, but still, this seemed bad. His stomach dropped and his hand shook as he tried to get his brother to wake up again, finally resulting in shouting and shaking him when nothing else worked.

"Sam!" Dean screamed, coughing again, as he finally gave up and just cradled his brother's head in his lap, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Sam wouldn't wake up. It might be the head injury, but what if it was worse than that. What if the injury had knocked the wall loose in Sam's mind and he was in another traumatized coma, reliving every horror he had gone through in hell.

"Sammy, please wake up," Dean whispered, bending to press his head to Sam's. "Please. Sam!"

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we are with chapter two! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed and faced so far, we always love to hear from you :)**

 **Disclaimer: Neither of us are doctors so please forgive the inaccuracies which will certainly occur.**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Two

"Just hang on, Sammy," Dean soothed, forcing his voice to sound calm. He had to take some deep breaths and think. Panic was not going to do his brother any good. Never had Dean been as thankful for his father's training as he was at this moment.

Keeping one hand resting against Sam's face, he reached into his pocket with a trembling, bloody hand to feel for his cell phone. It wasn't there. A curse slipped through his lips and he bit back a moan of pain as his twisted leg protested his sudden movement when he rotated to look down into the car. "I'll be right back, Sammy," he murmured, stroking a thumb over his brother's bloody cheek. "I've got to find the phone so I can get us some help." He scrambled around in the darkness looking for Sam's phone, but it must have landed somewhere in the grass.

Dean hated moving even a few feet away from his injured brother, but he knew it was necessary. He scrambled down into the battered shell of the Impala and fumbled through the glass, praying his phone hadn't been thrown from the car. He winced as glass pierced his knee and then his finger, but he kept searching in the pale light of the moon that had emerged from behind the clouds. Finally, his fingers closed around the smooth rectangle. "Yahtzee!" he breathed in relief.

A blanket from the backseat was tangled on the back of the passenger seat. Dean snatched it and crawled back out of the car to wrap it around his injured brother. "Help will be here soon, Sam," he promised, hoping he was telling the truth.

Dean pressed 9-1-1 and held his breath, hoping for a signal. He settled on the cold ground next to Sam and brushed bloody strands of his brother's bangs back from his forehead.

"9-1-1, please state the nature of your emergency," a cheery operator answered.

"My brother needs an ambulance," Dean fought to keep his voice steady as he tucked the blanket more securely around Sam's shoulders. "Our car went off the road and flipped into a ditch. He was thrown through the windshield. I think he has a pretty severe head injury."

"All right, sir. I will get help on the way. Where are you located?" The operator sounded professionally detached, but Dean could hear the steady clicks of her fingers on the keyboard.

Dean rattled off their location, his eyes glued to his brother. "Please, hurry," he pleaded with the dispatcher as he watched his brother's chest rise and fall slowly with each breath. Dean pressed the end button on the phone and immediately dialed Bobby's number.

"Why aren't you two idjits here yet?" Bobby's voice boomed into the phone. "I even went through the trouble of making dinner for you two trouble makers."

"Bobby," Dean's voice wavered and he took a deep breath to steady it. "Bobby, there's been an accident. The ghost ran us off the road. The Impala flipped into a ditch. Sam went through the windshield."

"How bad is he?" Bobby asked, his voice suddenly quiet and worried.

"Bad," Dean choked out as he cleared his throat. "His head is bleeding bad, Bobby, and he won't wake up. We're waiting on the ambulance."

Bobby could hear the worry in Dean's voice. Head injuries were never anything to mess with, but in Sam's case, if "the wall" crumbled the young man was in even more danger. "I'm on my way, Dean. I'll get someone else on the ghost and take care of the Impala. You worry about Sam. I'll meet you at the hospital as soon as I can. Just let me know which one you're at."

"Okay, Bobby," Dean choked out. "I can hear sirens. I'm gonna hang up now."

The blinding red lights of the ambulance and fire trucks made Dean wince. Police cars also began arriving as the paramedics raced toward Sam's prone form.

"Has he regained consciousness?" one of them, a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache asked.

"No," Dean answered, not leaving Sam's side. "Please, you have to help my brother."

"We will," the man told him as he immediately began assessing the younger Winchester's condition. "But someone also needs to look at you. You're covered in blood."

Dean looked down in surprise. He had assumed it was Sam's blood, but now he realized the glass had cut him up quite a bit. "Take care of my brother first," he protested.

Another paramedic, a solid woman with curly red hair, took his arm and tried to lead him away from Sam. "Let's get you back to the rig and check you out while Don and Rich work on your brother."

"No!" Dean protested, shaking the woman's hand from his arm. "My brother needs me."

"You need to give them space to work," she argued back. "Let me check you out, and by then your brother will be ready to travel."

Dean's lips curled in anger. "If you want to patch me up, lady, it will be right here beside my brother. I told you I'm not leaving him."

"Rachel," Don threw back over his shoulder, "go get the other kit. Let him stay."

"All right," the woman sighed. "I'll be right back. Stay still so you don't injure yourself further."

Dean ignored her and focused on his little brother. "Hang in there, Sammy," he murmured. "You're going to be just fine. You have to be."

Rachel returned a moment later slightly out of breath. She plunked the bright orange first aid kit on the ground in front of Dean and decided she was grateful for the bright light the firefighters had erected around the scene of the accident so they could all see what they were dealing with. "Let's get you out of this coat so I can see how bad these wounds are."

Dean grimaced in pain as Rachel helped him out of his layers. He had shards of glass embedded in his arms and back, and it pulled as she cut his shirt away from his body.

"You're going to need stitches when some of the glass is removed," Rachel observed quietly as she began inspecting his wounds and covering the worst with bandages to prevent infection.

Dean only grunted. "Sam is worse off than me. He needs to be cared for first."

"There will be plenty of people at the hospital to care for both of you at the same time," Rachel assured him, amazed at the dedication this young man had to his brother. "Are you the big brother?" she asked with a small smile.

Dean nodded, his eyes never leaving Sam.

"I had a feeling. I'm a big sister, so I know how it is. Little runt drove me mad, but I love my brother to pieces." Rachel checked Dean's eyes with a penlight. "No sign of a concussion. Pupils are normal and reactive. Do you hurt anywhere else?"

Dean shrugged and then winced when his wounds pulled. "My leg was twisted, but I can use it just fine. It's just sore."

Rachel nodded. "I'm sure they'll check it further at the hospital."

"We've got him ready to go!" Don called out as he and Rich raised Sam's gurney. "Need to get him there soon to be assessed."

"His brother's ready," Rachel assured the other paramedic. She quickly repacked her first aid kit and helped Dean to his feet.

They followed Sam's stretcher to the ambulance and Dean climbed inside as soon as his brother was loaded into the back, reaching for Sam's hand. "I'm right here, Sammy," he murmured. Fear clawed at his gut as Sam made no attempt to wake up. There was no response whatsoever from his baby brother. "You're going to be okay," Dean soothed. "The doctors will scan that giant brain of yours and figure out how to wake you up. You just need to stop being such a drama queen, Samantha." Dean's voice quavered on the last word and he swallowed hard, squeezing Sam's hand with his own.

The ambulance pulled out onto the road and sirens began to blare loudly. Dean kept his focus on Sam, wincing only slightly as the vehicle bumped over potholes.

"Come on, Sam," Dean ordered, now nearly pleading with his brother. How long had Sam been out cold now? The longer it took Sam to wake up, the more terrified he became. Something had to be terribly wrong. The idea of brain damage made Dean want to vomit, and if "the wall" had broken, Sam may never wake up.

The youngest Winchester never flinched or twitched. There was no indication that he was alive except for the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest.

"I want to stay with him," Dean announced upon their arrival at the emergency room doors.

"Mr. Winchester," Rachel protested, "a doctor needs to check you over. Your brother will be taken immediately for a scan, and you won't be able to go with him."

"Watch me," Dean snarled as he shrugged her hand off of his arm.

A doctor met the paramedics pushing Sam's stretcher as the ER doors slid open. Don rattled of Sam's vitals as the doctor listened carefully.

"Let's get him down to radiology now," the doctor decided. "We need to see if he has a bleed on his brain." The paramedics quickly transferred Sam to one of the hospitals' gurneys and Sam was immediately whisked down the hallway.

Dean's heart stuttered in his chest at the doctor's words and he moved to follow his younger brother's gurney.

"Sir, you can't go with him to radiology. I'll give you a once over while they run tests on your brother and then you can sit with him."

Dean found himself looking into the deeply lined face of an older doctor with kind blue eyes and a graying mustache.

"I'm Doctor Clifton. Let me assure you that your brother is in good hands. I've worked with Doctor Emerson for several years now, and he's an expert when it comes to dealing with head injuries."

"If Sam wakes up and I'm not there, he'll be upset," Dean protested as he tried to step around Doctor Clifton.

"Son, you need to stay here with me or I will have to call security. Then you will not be allowed to sit with your brother at all. If you do things my way, you can go to him as soon as he returns from testing." The doctor raised an eyebrow at Dean as if asking what the younger man's choice would be.

Dean scowled at him. "Fine," he answered, almost petulantly. "But better make it quick, because as soon as they bring Sammy back I'm going to be glued to his side."

"Well, come on then," the doctor ordered as he motioned for Dean to follow him. "Let's get you cleaned up and see exactly where all of the blood is coming from."

Dean shifted nervously as the doctor cleaned the cuts on his back and arms and sutured the deepest ones. He couldn't drag his mind from his brother's bloody, still form. What if Sam never woke up? What if he did wake up, but was not the same young man he had been before? Dean was suddenly nauseous. He swallowed convulsively to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

Doctor Clifton glanced up and looked past Dean's shoulder as he swiped an alcohol pad over a cut on Dean's arm. "Looks like they are returning with your brother. I think I have you all patched up. Now, you can go sit with him, but they may need you to step back a bit if they are still working with the patient."

Dean nodded. "Thanks, Doc." Without a backward glance, he picked up his bloody t-shirt and flannel and followed Sam's gurney to a trauma room at the end of the hallway. He stopped in the doorway and watched as nurses scurried around his brother hooking up monitors and various tubes. Dean's stomach twisted anxiously.

"Excuse me, sir, are you family?"

Dean blinked and realized that Doctor Emerson was speaking to him. "Uh, Sam's my little brother," he answered. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Let's go sit down some place quiet and I'll show you the scans we did of your brother's brain," the doctor said kindly.

Dean shook his head. "What if Sam wakes up and needs me? We can talk right here."

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Winchester, I highly doubt your brother will be waking up tonight."

At the doctor's words, Dean felt as if the bottom dropped out of his stomach. "Okay, take me somewhere quiet. Let's talk. Tell me what we have to do to fix Sam." Sam had to get well; there had to be a way to reverse any damage done. Dean could not and would not accept any other option. He followed the doctor to a small family consultation room and sat down in one of the pale blue vinyl chairs. As he waited for the doctor to take a seat, the fluorescent lights buzzed annoyingly in his ears.

Doctor Emerson logged into the room's one computer and pulled an image up on the screen. "Mr. Winchester, your brother's scans show bruising to the brain and quite a bit of swelling."

"What does that mean?" Dean choked out. "You can fix this, right? Whatever you need to do, you have my permission."

The doctor sighed. "At this point, Mr. Winchester, we are monitoring the pressure in your brother's skull. We may need to insert a drain to relieve the pressure if it becomes too high. The swelling can cause brain tissue to die."

Dean swallowed hard and curled his hands into fists. He barely felt his fingernails biting into his palms. "Will Sam have brain damage? What can we expect?"

"It's hard to say. Some people make a complete recovery. Others come very close with a lot of time invested in physical therapy. Still others never recover. It all depends on the parts of the brain affected and how severely they are damaged. Right now we just have to wait and see."

Dean ran a trembling hand over his face. "Can I go back and sit with my brother now?"

"Sure," the doctor nodded. "I'll see if one of the nurses can find you a shirt to wear."

Dean looked down and realized he was holding his bloody, shredded clothing. His chest was bare expect for bandages and scratches. "Thanks," he mumbled as he stood to his feet and moved down the hall. He needed to get to his brother. He needed to see Sam.

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**Onto chapter three! Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and followed and** **faved, we're so glad you're enjoying our story :)**

 **Disclaimer: Still not medical professionals of any kind so please forgive any inaccuracies.**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

Chapter Three

Dean limped to the room Sam was being kept in and a nurse met him there with a clean shirt to wear and offered some pajama pants but he declined. He figured Bobby could bring him new clothes later, and he didn't really care at all what he was wearing right now. Not when he saw his baby brother lying in that hospital bed looking worse than death.

"Sammy," he whispered as he lowered his aching body into the chair, his own injuries forgotten for the moment as he looked at his brother's waxy complexion, so pale and lying so still, Dean had to rest a palm against his chest to make sure his heart was beating, not even trusting the steady beep of the machine beside the bed to tell him the truth. A steady if slightly weak thrum beat under Dean's hand and he was somewhat reassured by that as well as the warmth of Sam's skin, but it still wasn't enough. The doctor had said he had swelling on the brain. That they might have to drain it off. He knew that was bad enough, that these sorts of head injuries usually had long-term repercussions, but if it had also knocked everything loose inside his head, he knew it would be so much worse. Sam would be trapped in his memories of hell and in complete agony and there would be nothing any doctor in the world could do about it. It's not like he could really explain the situation to them.

Dean sighed, rubbing his hands over his bruised face and through his hair, and decided he couldn't think about it any more. What was going to happen was obviously going to happen either way and there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it, at least not at the moment. Besides, Sam might wake up within a couple days and everything could be fine. Because it _would be fine_. Dean wasn't going to let himself think any differently.

He scooted his chair even closer to Sam's bedside and reached out a hand hesitantly, before resting it gently on his brother's forehead, avoiding the gauze taped over the wound there and stroking his hair out of the way. There was still some blood matted in it, he would have to wash it out later.

"Sam, if you can hear me in there," he began, his voice tight with emotion he was trying not to show at the moment. Not yet. "You can't give up on me, man. You know that right? I'm not gonna let you get out of it this easy. Whatever's going on in there, you've gotta fight it because I can't…" His voice broke and he lowered his face into his other hand, pressing on his eyes viciously as if to keep the threatening tears at bay. "You know what I mean, bitch," he finished in a whisper, trying to ignore the pain that stabbed his chest when there was no answering _jerk._

He continued to stroke Sam's head, not knowing how long they had been there when he was shocked out of his dark thoughts by his phone ringing. He fumbled in his jeans pocket for it and saw with relief that it was Bobby. He answered it as quickly as he could.

"Dean? How ya doin' son?" Bobby asked, his worry clear even through the phone.

"Um, I'm alright, Bobby. Sorry I didn't call earlier…"

"That's okay, I'm sure you're busy with Sam. How is he?"

"He's—" Dean swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Bobby, he's in a coma right now. His head injury is pretty bad. They, um, they're not sure when he'll wake up." What hung between them was that _if_ they were both thinking about. Dean heard Bobby huff deeply and curse on the other end of the line.

"He's a strong kid, Dean, I'm sure he'll pull through. You both have pulled through worse in the past. Hell, you've beat death several times."

"This isn't just about the physical injury, Bobby," Dean said. "We don't know if this could have damaged everything else. If this knocked loose Death's wall then—"

"There's no use thinking about that until we know more," Bobby cut in quickly. "Just let the doctors do what they can for him and he might very well be fine. Now, which hospital are you staying at?"

Dean told him, trying not to think of the worst-case scenario, but unable to help himself. He knew they could never catch a break, why would this time be any different?

"I'll be there in a couple hours. Just try to get some rest, son."

"Yeah, okay," Dean said dismissively, both of them knowing that wasn't going to happen. He ended the call with Bobby and sat biting his knuckle as he watched Sam's measured breathing, his slightly moving chest the only thing that indicated he was still alive. Dean reached out and took Sam's hand in his this time, hating when the fingers didn't respond, but he wrapped the slightly larger hand in his, remembering when he had held a five-year-old Sammy's hand on his first day of kindergarten. Dean shook his head, knowing going down memory lane wasn't going to help any of them. In fact, it would likely just make it worse.

"Come on, Sammy. You know you can't leave me hanging here," he pleaded, rubbing his thumb over Sam's knuckles before he sighed deeply and lowered his head into his arms.

* * *

 _Bobby Singer came to the_ hospital room just as the doctor was finishing up checking on Sam. He paused by the door to get a good look at his two boys, one pale as death on the hospital bed, and the other looking only slightly better sitting beside him. Worry was written in the lines of Dean's face and the slump of his shoulders. Bobby hated seeing those boys hurt so much, and he wished he could do something for them. All he could give was his support, be there for Dean, and that was what he was going to do. He stepped into the room, and watched just a flicker of relief come into Dean's eyes as he saw the older hunter.

"Bobby," he said tiredly as the doctor turned around to greet the newcomer.

"Are you family?" the doctor asked.

"I'm their uncle," Bobby said, truthfully enough. There was no point in being pedantic. "What's going on with Sam's head?"

"It's still too early to tell one way or another," the doctor said calmly. "The first few days are the most important, we will be taking him in for another scan in a few hours. So far, he hasn't worsened, and that's a good sign. Most of the times, in these cases the patient just needs to rest. Sometimes these problems can fix themselves with time to heal. A coma is like a reboot; it keeps the body quiet so healing can occur. But your nephew is strong and in good health so we have high hopes that he will make a full recovery."

"There's nothing you can do to help it along?" Bobby asked, noticing Dean's shifting and scowl.

The doctor shook his head. "It's best not to do anything if it's unnecessary. We are hoping we will not have to drain any liquid off. We'll know within the next day or so depending on how bad the swelling gets."

"Thank you," Bobby said gruffly, then nodded to Dean. "How about him?"

"Minor injuries," the doctor said with a rueful smile that he cast back at the elder Winchester. "He could do with a little sleep, though."

"I'll sleep when my brother is better," Dean growled.

Bobby sighed and gave the doctor a small wry smile. "I'll take care of him."

The doctor nodded. "I'll be back later to check on Sam. Make sure he eats something," he added with a toss of the head toward Dean.

The doctor left and Bobby came further into the room, setting a duffle bag down next to Dean and resting a hand on his shoulder gently as he noticed Dean flinch slightly from his injuries.

"I brought you some clothes," Bobby told him, motioning to the bag. "I was going to get a hotel room later just down the street so you can go there and clean up and maybe get some rest."

Dean shook his head adamantly. "No. I'm not leaving Sam here."

Bobby sighed and pulled another chair over. "Yeah, I figured that. But you can at least go get a shower. The nurses aren't going to give you a sponge bath."

Bobby waited for some cheeky remark, but Dean didn't even give him his typical playboy grin. He sighed and reached out to rub a comforting hand on Dean's back.

"He'll be alright, son," Bobby told him.

Dean flinched, jerking away from the hunter. "I've got like fifty stitches back there," he grunted.

Bobby stopped and smiled slightly. At least there was a little life in the elder Winchester still. He bent over and picked up the duffle bag. "Why don't you at least get changed and wash a little in the bathroom? You probably haven't seen yourself in a mirror, but you're a sight, boy, and it ain't a pretty one."

Dean sighed and reluctantly grabbed the bag, standing up with a wince and disappeared into the small bathroom. Bobby watched Sam's unconscious form until Dean returned, looking a little better than he had, even with the bruises covering his face and the bandages on his forearms. He sat back down and finally turned to Bobby again.

"Did, um, did someone take care of the ghost?"

"I got Rufus on it," Bobby told him. "And I got your car back at my place as well. She'll be okay; a little dented but most of the damage was done to the windows and the front tires. She's come back from worse, just like you two. I think that car saved your lives."

"Baby always looks after us," Dean said quietly, the hint of a smile on his face and a little more relief washing over him as he heard his beloved car would be okay at least. Something wasn't completely broken anyway.

"Why don't you go get something to eat?" Bobby told him, checking his watch. "It's almost six in the morning. You probably haven't eaten for almost twelve hours, have ya?"

"I'm not hungry," Dean protested lamely.

"I'm not gonna take any of that from you, son; you go and eat something, even if it's just toast. You're not gonna do Sam any good if you pass out from hunger. I'll be right here and I'll call you if anything happens. Bring me back a coffee."

Dean opened his mouth to argue further, but knew how futile it would be. He sighed and stood, casting one last glance at his brother before he left the room reluctantly.

Bobby sighed and slumped in his chair, reaching out to rest a weathered hand on Sam's forehead. "You better wake up, son. You're brother needs you. You know how stubborn he can be, so if you can hear me, try to get your butt out of bed before he goes crazy, all right?" Bobby shook his head, wishing he could do more. These boys had gone through so much. And after Dean had just gotten Sam back to normal, if he lost him now, Bobby didn't want to think of what the elder Winchester would do. It would all be too much too soon.

"Just wake up, son," Bobby pleaded with the younger boy, hoping and praying that once, just once, they would get a break.

* * *

 _Dean walked back from_ the cafeteria with two cups of coffee. He had tried to eat some toast and bacon and got through most of it, but his stomach was still in knots and he couldn't force anything more than that into himself yet without fear of throwing up. He was tired, exhausted really, but he couldn't sleep, knowing that his dreams would just be filled with reliving the accident and thoughts of losing his brother. Just the thought of dreams was plaguing him, as he wondered if Sam was stuck in some horrible nightmare while in the coma. He didn't want to think about that. He couldn't stand it if Sam was stuck somewhere, unreachable by his older brother, and Dean could do nothing to help him.

For some reason, he happened to look up and see the small chapel in the hospital and stopped. It was certainly not the sort of place he would normally frequent, but he was kind of in need of a miracle just then. He walked into the small, quiet place and sat down in the back pew, setting the coffee at his side. There were only a few other people in there and the quiet strangely worked to calm him as he closed his eyes, suddenly fighting the urge to sleep. He bent over his knees and rested his head in his hands, before he took a deep breath and started whispering a prayer.

"Castiel. Cas, hey man. I don't know where you are right now, but Sammy's hurt bad and I need your help. Maybe you could stop by?" He peeked up from his hands, half expecting to see the angel sitting next to him, but he wasn't there. He never seemed to be there these days. Dean heaved a huge sigh and hunched over again. "I just really need someone to give me an answer, Cas. Please, just…come and say hello, at least."

He sat up and grabbed the coffees again, heading back to the room. He handed one of the cups to Bobby as he resumed his place silently. Bobby thankfully didn't try to engage him in conversation. He was reading some old book, so Dean just sipped his coffee and watched his brother's chest rise and fall. There wasn't anything else he could do and he knew that if he wasn't so exhausted and just simply done, it would drive him mad.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when Bobby looked at his watch again and stood up, stretching with a grunt. "I'm gonna go check into that hotel now, Dean; maybe get a couple hours of sleep. I'll be back later and you can decide then whether you want to go back there for a bit yourself."

"Okay," Dean said quietly, still not taking his eyes from Sam.

Bobby touched his shoulder gently and left the room.

Dean sat still for another half hour before he felt a slight breeze at his back.

"Dean."

The elder Winchester turned around and saw Castiel standing there behind him, looking more rumpled than usual and exhausted.

"Hey, Cas, you decided to come," Dean said, slightly annoyed that his friend hadn't come earlier.

The angel stepped forward and stood next to Dean, looking down at Sam. "You called me, I—came when I could. What has happened to Sam?"

"He's in a coma—car crash—he hit his head pretty bad. Doctors think he might have damaged his brain," Dean's voice sounded stiff even to him and his hands clenched in his lap as he related the news.

"I'm sorry," Cas said quietly and seemed to take in Dean's bruised and bandaged appearance. "Are you alright?"

Dean nodded jerkily. "Yeah, just some scratches. Cas, I'm worried that the wall in Sam's head might have…broken…when he was injured. That maybe that's why he wo-won't wake up." He bit the inside of his mouth to keep his voice steady but didn't succeed very well.

Castiel frowned and studied Sam more. "It is possible, I suppose."

"Is there any way you can, you know, check?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Cas nodded. "I can try." He reached over and pressed a palm against Sam's forehead, closing his eyes in concentration as his hand glowed slightly. Dean watched the door cautiously for doctors as he shot glances at his friend's face. Cas' frown got deeper and deeper as the minutes dragged by and Dean got more and more worried before the angel finally opened his eyes and pulled his hand away from the younger Winchester.

"Well?" Dean asked.

"It is hard to tell," Cas told him quietly. "There is definitely much turmoil going on in his mind; almost too much to tell the state of the wall. He seems confused, lost."

"But he's not dreaming of hell?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. "Not that I can see."

"That's something at least," Dean sighed and slumped back in his chair.

"I have heard that talking to coma patients can help them keep their minds stimulated," Castiel told him. "Perhaps you should try that, or read to him."

"There's nothing you can do for him?" Dean asked hopelessly.

Castiel shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. It's beyond my power. I'm sorry Dean. Truly. Sam is as much my friend as you are."

Dean didn't say anything, knowing it wasn't Cas' fault, and yet still somewhat angry at him for no reason other than he had no one else to be angry at. He felt the angel's hand plant itself awkwardly on his shoulder.

"You and Sam pull through more than I have ever seen in all the centuries I have been around," Castiel told him. "I'm sure he will recover from this as well."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean whispered, unable to raise his voice any more.

"I must go," the angel told him reluctantly. "But if you need me again, just call. I will try to come if I can."

"Okay," Dean said but the angel was already gone in a swoop of wings, and he was once again left alone with his unconscious brother.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! Thanks for all the reviews so far :) Glad you're enjoying our story! This chapter has some flashbacks in it. Just to let you know, all flashbacks or dream sequences will be in italics so you'll be able to tell them apart.**

 **Disclaimer: As said before, we're not doctors, please forgive medical inaccuracies.**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Four

 _The day was unseasonably hot for the time of year. Sam found himself overly warm in his t-shirt and long sleeve flannel. His bangs clung to his damp forehead in sticky clumps, but his arms were too full of books. He couldn't free a hand to brush them back._

 _Sam approached The Grill, a small restaurant on the edge of campus where he could get a salad and a sandwich both quickly and cheap. He maneuvered his books into a one-armed hold and reached for the door handle with his free hand just as the door was flung open. The metal edge of the doorframe collided with his forehead, sending Sam sprawling over backwards onto the cement as his books thudded to the ground around him._

 _"I'm so sorry," a female voice gasped in shock._

 _Sam was too stunned at first to realize what had happened. He placed a shaky hand to his forehead to check for blood and imagined how disappointed his father would be in him for not being aware of his surroundings._

 _He jumped when warm hands pulled his fingers away from his forehead. "Let me see," the same female voice demanded. Sam lifted his eyes to see a beautiful face framed by long blonde hair. Long lashes curled against her cheeks and a small smile chased the worry lines from her face._

 _"You aren't bleeding," she announced, "but you do have quite a lump there. Let's go inside and I'll get you some ice."_

 _"I'm okay, really," Sam protested weakly as he fumbled around gathering up his books._

 _The pretty blonde picked up the book from one of his pre-law classes and hugged it to her chest. "I insist you let me get you some ice and buy you lunch. It's the least I can do for nearly braining you with the door."_

 _"You really don't have to," Sam told her earnestly, wincing as a headache began to pound behind his eyes. He could imagine Dean telling him to milk this moment for all it was worth – a pretty blonde with legs a mile long._

 _"I do have to," the young woman announced. "I'm Jessica, by the way, but my friends call me Jess."_

 _"Sam. I'm Sam." He followed Jess into the restaurant and mentally kicked himself for sounding addlepated. Maybe he should just blame it on the head injury._

 _"This is my favorite booth." Jess stopped by a secluded booth in the far corner of the busy restaurant. She dropped the pre-law book onto the table with a gentle thud. "Have a seat. I'll get you some ice and then lunch is on me." Before Sam could protest, she was already gone._

 _His eyes followed her long denim-clad legs as she walked to the counter and spoke to the waitress, gesturing over her counter toward their booth as she spoke. It wasn't long before she was returning with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel._

 _"Here." She handed the make-shift ice pack to Sam. "Hold this on your head. It's starting to swell."_

 _Sam huffed a sigh and pressed the ice against his throbbing forehead. He finally met a gorgeous blonde only to get knocked on his rear end like a giant dork._

 _Jess took the seat across from him and tugged a menu over to place it in front of him. "So, what are you in the mood for, a good burger maybe?"_

 _Sam thought for a moment. "Just a salad and some water, please," he finally decided as he shifted the ice pack against his head._

 _Jess looked amused. "How did you get as tall as a giraffe eating rabbit food?"_

 _Sam's gut twisted as he thought of Dean. "Sounds like something my brother would say," he told her softly, a touch of melancholy in his voice._

 _Jess studied Sam's face a moment. "You sound sad; did something happen to your brother?"_

 _Sam's open expression suddenly closed up tight and his eyes grew hooded._

 _Jess backpedaled quickly. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to pry. It's none of my business." She glanced down nervously at the menu she had shoved in front of Sam as her short fingernails picked at its rumpled edges._

 _Sam bit back a sigh. It wasn't her fault. She had no way of knowing that his family was a touchy subject. "No, uh, I just haven't talked to my brother in a long time. That's all." Sam tapped the menu. "I'll get the Caesar salad, I think."_

 _"Oh," Jess answered, blinking at the change in subject. "That's usually good here." She waved the waitress over and ordered Sam's salad, asking for coffee for herself. "I just finished eating," she explained._

 _"I can pay for my own lunch," Sam told her. "I'm fine, really, and I'm sure you have someplace you need to be instead of sitting with a clumsy nerd."_

 _"You aren't clumsy," Jess admonished him gently. "I bashed you in the face with the door, remember? And if you're a nerd, you're the hottest one I've ever seen." Her cheeks flushed bright red as her words registered in her brain. She covered her face with her hands. "Oh, I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I said that."_

 _Sam's own face flamed in embarrassment, but he gave a soft laugh. "Don't know that I've ever been called hot before."_

 _Jess peered between her fingers. "Don't mind me; I'm just going to sink through the floor now."_

 _Sam chuckled once again. He found the pretty blonde across from him a breath of fresh air._

 _"Here you go, hon," the waitress said as she placed a glass of water and a bowl of salad in front of Sam. "Eat up." She poured a mug of steaming coffee for Jess. "Just let me know if you want a refill."_

 _"Thanks," Sam smiled at her before turning back to Jess. "So, are you going to school at Stanford or do you work around here?" he asked her curiously._

 _"I'm a student," she replied, finally getting over her embarrassment. "I'm assuming that you are too if that load of books you're carrying is any indication."_

 _"Pre-law," Sam answered. "I was just leaving the library. My roommate makes it impossible to study in our room."_

 _Jess nodded. "I know how that is," she commiserated. "I've been at the library a lot as well. My roommate has the maturity of a five-year-old."_

 _Sam nodded in understanding and then swallowed hard as he gathered up his courage. "Well, I'm ath the library most nights. Maybe you'd like to meet me there and then we could go out to eat after we study." He shoved a mouthful of salad into his mouth and chewed as he anxiously waited for her answer._

 _Her eyes sparkled as a smile hooked the corners of her mouth. "I'd like that, Sam. It gets lonely studying by myself all the time." A flush tinted her cheeks pink once again._

 _Sam finished his salad and Jess drained the last of her coffee. "How's your head?" she asked as she stood and moved to Sam's side of the table before reaching out to pull the ice pack away from his face._

 _"I'm okay," he told her, wincing as her fingers probed gently at the spot._

 _"You're bruising," she pointed out with a sigh._

 _"Jess, I'm fine. It's just a bump," he protested._

 _"That I caused," she told him with a frown as she pushed his hand holding the ice pack back into place. "Good thing we're going to be studying together so I can check on you and make sure you're okay."_

 _"Will tomorrow night at six work for you?" Sam asked quietly. "I have a big test the day after that I need to study for."_

 _"Sure," Jess smiled eagerly. "If we eat afterwards, I can quiz you while we wait for our food."_

 _Sam left the restaurant with a throbbing head and a huge smile on his face._

* * *

 _Dean shifted in the uncomfortable_ chair next to Sam's bed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees even though his wounds protested. His stomach was so empty it felt nauseous, yet he didn't think he could swallow food right now if he tried. His belly twisted anxiously and the lump in his throat refused to go away no matter how much coffee he drank. Dean clasped his hands and rested his forehead against them as he closed his eyes in exhaustion.

He needed sleep, but he couldn't leave his baby brother, not when there was a chance of Sam's wall of protection breaking, not when there was a chance Sammy could die. With a heavy sigh, Dean reached forward and placed a hand over Sam's forearm. "Hang in there, Sammy. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." He watched for any sign that his brother had heard him, but there was none.

A nurse padded quietly into the room and studied the monitor beside Sam's bed. Then she scribbled the time and some numbers on the dry erase board that hung on the wall by the door.

Dean frowned. That was the third time in an hour that someone had been in Sam's room to check the monitors. "Excuse me," he called.

The nurse stopped and turned around. "Yes, sir, how may I help you?" she asked quietly.

"Is everything okay with my brother?" Dean asked as his hand on Sam's forearm tightened slightly. "You're wearing a path from the door to the monitor."

"We're watching his cranial pressure carefully. It's been on the rise over the past hour," the nurse explained as she pointed to the numbers that had been written on the white board.

"What does that mean?" Dean asked. "Is he getting worse?"

"The doctor is monitoring him closely and will decide if surgery is necessary to relieve the pressure," she told him gently.

Dean sighed. "Can't catch a break, can you Sam?" he asked his brother sadly.

"Please let me know if you need anything. I'll be back to check on your brother in just a bit." The nurse left the room after double checking the numbers she'd written on the board.

Once she was gone, Dean stood at his brother's bedside and stared down at Sam's overly pale face. Why did life have to be so unfair if your last name was Winchester? Dean snorted bitterly and sunk back down into the chair, wincing as his stitches pulled and his bruises ached. "Don't you give up, Sam," he ordered quietly yet firmly. He wanted to add that he needed his little brother's presence just as a five-year-old Sam had once told Dean he needed him. The elder Winchester sighed and remembered back when the giant sasquatch in the bed was once a thin, overly small kid with skinny arms and legs and a snaggle-toothed smile.

 _Dean shifted on the hospital bed and stifled a groan; his leg still throbbed even with the painkillers they'd given him after the surgery to repair the two breaks in his femur. He had been so excited to get the skateboard he'd wanted for his birthday. He and Sammy had already spent hours riding it in the parking lots of whatever cheap motel they were staying in. But now he doubted their dad would ever let them ride it again after some crazy driver used the motel parking lot as a cut through and hit Dean as the boy attempted to do a new trick on his beloved board. The force of the impact had sent him sailing through the air. He could still hear Sam's sharp scream and the sound of screeching tires. The memory of the sick thud and the sting of pain as the car rammed into his body would linger for years to come._

 _As Dean had been lying winded and hurting on the pavement, Sammy's teary, terrified face appeared above him. "Dean! Dean, please don't be dead. Please don't be dead." The five-year-old's frantic hands had clutched at his brother's chest while tears dripped down his pale cheeks._

 _Those words and his little brother's fear reverberated in Dean's mind, fuzzy from pain meds, as their father told the youngest Winchester he was going to take him down to the hospital parking lot to meet Bobby. Thankfully, the other hunter only lived about two hours away and had volunteered to drive to the hospital and pick up Sammy. John was going to stay with Dean until the boy was released the next day._

 _"No, Daddy, please, I need to stay with Dean, too." Sammy clutched the railing on the edge of Dean's bed so hard that his knuckles turned white._

 _"Stop it, Sam. Bobby drove all this way to pick you up. You're going." John's tone left no room for argument._

 _Sammy gulped down a sob. "But, Daddy, I need Dean."_

 _Dean reached out his hand, careful of the IV, and ruffled Sammy's disheveled mop of brown hair. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'll be at Uncle Bobby's with you tomorrow."_

 _Sam sniffled and wiped at his teary eyes. "But I won't be able to sleep without you there, Dean, and I'll be lonely. I need you."_

 _"Tomorrow, Sport," John insisted as he lifted Sammy into his arms._

 _"Dean!" the five-year-old cried as John carried him out of his room. His cries echoed down the hall and in his brother's ears long after he'd gone._

Dean sighed and ran a trembling hand through his short hair. "Don't you die on me, Sammy," he ordered his brother softly. "I need you here hunting by my side." He leaned back in his chair with a wince as the nurse came in to check Sam's cranial pressure once again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Back with another chapter! Hope you're all still enjoying this story. More flashbacks in this one so I hope you like that lol ;)**

 **Disclaimer: As previously mentioned we aren't doctors but we do the best we can to use research with poetic license.**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

Chapter Five

Bobby came back to the hospital around five in the afternoon, after having gotten some sleep and feeling much refreshed. He grabbed some coffee for himself and Dean before heading up to Sam's room. His heart ached as he walked through the doorway and saw the elder brother even more slumped and subdued than he had been before. Dean started, not having realized Bobby was there until he walked right up next to his chair.

"You look like crap, kid," he stated as Dean rubbed a hand over his face and gladly accepted the coffee that Bobby handed him.

"They say the pressure in Sam's head is getting worse. If it goes up much more they're going to have to operate." His voice wavered and his hand shook so much that some coffee spilled out onto his jeans. He cursed under his breath and Bobby took the cup from him and handed him a tissue.

"You eat anything?"

"Just what I had for breakfast," Dean said.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Bobby said wryly, noting the army of empty coffee cups sitting on the bedside table. "I'm cutting you off. You have way too much caffeine in your system; it's only gonna make you more anxious than you already are. Now I'm going to suggest you go back to the hotel room and get horizontal for a while. If I have to drag you there myself, I'll do it. And don't even think of protesting."

Dean glared, but there wasn't much power behind it. He reluctantly put the coffee aside and looked at Sam for a long moment. "Fine, but call me if anything happens."

"I will," Bobby assured him. Dean stood and wavered instantly, causing the older hunter to have to steady him. "You aren't going to make it there, are you? Come on then, I'll take you."

"I can drive, Bobby, or maybe walk, just stay here with Sam," Dean protested.

Bobby shook his head firmly. "It's your right leg messed up, and your judgment is impaired. It will only take five minutes for me to get you there and back. We can get a nurse to sit with Sam for that time."

"Fine," Dean sighed heavily and grabbed the bag Bobby had packed for him. He looked at Sam one last time, stroking the hair away from his forehead. "I want you up when I come back, Sammy. There's no excuse for being lazy," he said quietly. "No more hitting that snooze alarm."

Bobby watched him and then ushered him out of the hospital to where he parked.

As promised, it was only a few minutes before he pulled up in front of the hotel and handed Dean the key, staying only long enough to make sure the stubborn kid actually made it inside before he went back to take care of the younger Winchester.

He settled in for a long night, not really wanting to admit how hard it was to see Sam lying there. It was always hard to see his boys hurt or sick, and probably even harder because of the effect it had on the other brother. It had always been like that for as long as he could remember. If Dean was hurt, Sam was a nervous wreck and got clingy, not wanting to leave his brother and giving anyone hell when they tried to get him to do so—causing some of the earliest arguments between him and John. And when it was Sam, Dean went full on mama bear and would hardly let anyone else touch him unless he couldn't fix his brother himself. Bobby smiled fondly as he remembered one of the first times he had noticed the overprotective gene in the elder Winchester brother.

 _It was summer time and usually, at some point, John Winchester would ship his boys off to stay with Bobby for a few weeks since they didn't have school to occupy them. But this time, he had left a Sam who was on the verge of catching the flu and none of them knew it yet, until that night when the younger brother came down with a fever and upset stomach._

 _Bobby was woken by sounds of whimpering and gentle reassurances coming from down the hall, and went to investigate, finding the two brothers holed up in the bathroom with little Sam bent over the toilet, Dean rubbing his back and cleaning his face with a wet washcloth. Dean looked up as Bobby came in, and almost instinctively inserted himself in front of Sam._

 _"You okay, Sam?" Bobby asked the kid, crouching down next to Dean who had moved slightly, but still didn't leave his brother's side completely as most kids would do once an adult came on the scene._

 _"He's got the flu," Dean informed the hunter. "Kids had it the last couple days of school."_

 _Sam moaned and turned to press his sweaty, flushed face into Dean's t-shirt, wrapping his arms around his brother's neck. Bobby felt the back of the boy's neck and found it hot with fever._

 _"Let's get some medicine into you, kiddo," Bobby told him and stood up._

 _"I can take care of him," Dean informed him firmly._

 _"You don't have to do everything, Dean," Bobby told him gently._

 _"Yes, I do, I'm his big brother," Dean said in no uncertain terms and stood, picking Sam up with him as he headed back to the room. "I've got him."_

 _Bobby wanted to protest, but knew it would probably be useless to do so. He sighed inwardly, wondering if this was more of John Winchester's top notch parenting, or if this really was just Dean. He couldn't really help but admire Dean's obvious devotion to his little brother, it was just sad that it seemed the only thing they knew. Bobby had a feeling no one really ever looked after Dean._

 _"Well, I'll be here if you need anything," Bobby told him, and decided to go back to his room, though kept the door open so he could hear if anything went wrong._

 _The next night Dean came down with the flu too, and somehow still tried to convince Bobby that he was able to take care of Sam._

 _"Uh-uh, no way, kid," Bobby told him firmly, pushing the elder brother back into bed. "I'm gonna look after both of you. You won't get better at all if you run yourself ragged."_

 _"But Sammy…" Dean tried to murmur._

 _"I've got him," Bobby said, and eased Dean into the same bed as his little brother. "There, see? He's right there."_

 _"It's okay, Dean, I'm good," Sam told his big brother quietly as he snuggled up against him. "We can get better together."_

 _That was the only thing that seemed to relax Dean, but Bobby still had to shake his head at the utter loyalty these two had. They were all each other had, and he hoped they would stay that way their whole lives._

They had, of course, but sometimes Bobby had to wonder if it was healthy. Certainly, it was the main reason they got into the trouble they did, trying to save each other. But then again, he wouldn't respect them as much if they didn't.

He sighed and turned to Sam's prone form. "You know you have to get better, right, kid? Because you know that idjit brother of yours is going to do something stupid if you don't." He waited for some sort of acknowledgement from the younger Winchester but there wasn't anything. Bobby shook his head and slumped back in his chair.

"You boys are going to be the death of me."

* * *

 _Despite his worry for Sam_ Dean collapsed onto the closest bed as soon as he staggered into the hotel room. He groaned as he thought that he should take a shower, but his body didn't seem to want to move. He figured he could take one later.

He just barely managed to kick his boots off and slumped back, wincing, before he turned onto his stomach where he didn't have stitches and wrapped his arms around a pillow, burying his face into it. He didn't want to think about anything at the moment, and was actually glad for the exhaustion because it gave everything a sort of dreamlike feel, like the accident hadn't really happened. It was just a nightmare, and he would wake up and Sam would be sitting there at the table with his laptop, looking for a new case or hogging the bathroom to wash his high-maintenance hair. He wasn't actually lying in a coma in the hospital a few blocks away, that wasn't something Dean was going to accept at the moment. No, for now, he would just sleep and not worry about anything that might or might not have even happened. There was time to dispel the denial later, but for now, he needed to rest.

He drifted off almost instantly but his sleep wasn't exactly stress free either. His body tensed, and his hands fisted into the pillow he was clutching as a nightmare overtook his mind.

 _Dean couldn't find his brother, but he knew he had to, or their dad would be angry. He couldn't believe he had let Sam wander off, he didn't even know how it had happened. One minute he had been there and the next Sam was gone._

 _"Sam!" he shouted, looking around. "Sammy, come on!"_

 _Then he saw it, a mangled lump of metal, that he knew used to be the Impala. Dean's heart was in his throat as he ran toward the wreckage, a horrible feeling in his chest._

 _"Sammy, come on answer me!"_

 _He dug through what seemed to be tons of twisted metal until he finally saw his little brother, a skinny kid with floppy hair, lying among the wreckage. Dean kept shouting his brother's name, digging frantically to dislodge him and finally pulled him out, limp and lifeless._

 _"Sammy, come on, wake up, wake up," he pleaded, shaking the limp body and running a hand through his hair, bringing it away sticky and dripping with blood. "No, no, no, come on, Sam, please wake up!"_

 _"You were supposed to look after him, Dean."_

 _Dean looked up to see their father standing over him, disappointment on his face._

 _"I tried, Dad, I tried," he pleaded, hugging his brother closer to him as if that would somehow make everything okay again._

 _"Not hard enough. It was the one task I gave to you and you failed."_

 _"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. Please Sam, wake up! Sammy!"_

* * *

Dean shot awake with a gasp, gulping air and biting back a groan as he felt several of his stitches rip out. He rubbed a hand against his cheeks and was surprised and embarrassed to find them wet.

"Dean? Are you alright?"

He just about had a heart attack as he spun around and spotted Castiel sitting at the table, feeling several more stitches rip out.

"Dammit, Cas, will you ever learn?" he growled, untangling himself from the sheets and sliding his legs over the side of the bed.

The angel dipped his head in apology. "I'm sorry."

"What are you even doing here?" Dean demanded as he attempted to stand, hoping he wasn't going to end up on the floor.

"I stopped by the hospital to see how Sam was," Cas told him. "Bobby sent me to watch over you."

"So I have a babysitter now? Fan-freaking-tastic," Dean grumbled as he staggered to the bathroom and splashed water onto his face.

"You're bleeding," Cas stated needlessly, following him, which made Dean want to grind his teeth in annoyance.

"Yeah, that's because you scared the crap out of me."

"Dean, you know I would do anything I could for Sam if I had the power," the angel told him, moving to stand behind Dean to look at him in the mirror.

"I know, Cas, I'm not angry at you, I'm just angry this happened. It was such a rookie mistake and so soon after I got him back." He slumped with his hands resting on the sink. "I just feel like I can't take care of him anymore, you know?"

"He is an adult, Dean; technically he is capable of caring for himself."

"That doesn't mean I can't still look after him," Dean protested, even though he knew Cas was right. Somewhat anyway, he just didn't seem to understand the whole big brother thing. Sure, Cas had brothers and sisters too, but it wasn't really the same with angels. And half the time, he even felt like he was a big brother to Cas as well. It was just in his blood.

"At least let me see to your wounds," Cas said as he lifted the back of Dean's shirt to inspect them.

"Woah, handsy!" Dean cried, slapping Cas' hands away, and wincing in the process. "I can do it myself."

"I think that's physically impossible," Cas told him blandly.

"Fine," Dean said and went to sit down on the toilet like he was five, shrugging his shirt over his head. "I know you're my personal guardian angel and all, but you need to work on your bedside manner."

"Bobby told me to look after you. He's worried. He's convinced you'll be the death of him."

Dean couldn't help a small dry laugh at that. "Yeah, he's been saying that since we were kids. We haven't done him in yet." He winced as Cas set about repairing the ripped stitches. "What time is it anyway?"

"Six thirty in the morning," Cas told him. "You slept for nearly twelve hours."

"I gotta get back to see Sam," Dean said, standing up and feeling every ache from the crash a hundred times as bad as it had initially felt. He caught himself on the sink again and huffed in annoyance.

"Bobby told me you had to eat," Cas said firmly. "What would you like?"

"I don't care," Dean told him. "I'll get something later." He scowled at Cas' determined look and finally sighed. "Whatever, go get me something and I'll take a shower."

The angel was gone in a blink and Dean slumped further, before he staggered back out to the room to gather clean clothes. Showering wasn't easy, but the hot water felt good, even if he couldn't clean himself as well as he wanted due to his injuries. By the time he got out he found Cas sitting at the table with a plethora of assembled food that made Dean's stomach want to turn but he forced himself to sit down and ate some bacon and a muffin, paying more attention to the coffee.

"I need to go now," Dean told Cas.

"You can't walk, I'll take you."

"That's not—" Before he could protest further, Cas had touched his forehead and had transported him to the hospital. His already less-than-par state caused a wave of vertigo to overcome Dean and he swayed.

"Thanks, Cas," he grumbled sarcastically as the angel quickly grabbed his elbow.

"You're welcome," the angel replied. "Now I must go. I'll stop by again when I can to see how Sam is fairing."

Before Dean could answer the angel was gone; something that happened all too much lately for his liking, but he couldn't worry about anything else right now. He just had to concentrate on his little brother. He entered the lobby and took the elevator up to the floor Sam was being kept on. He almost passed the door to the room because of the commotion there he hadn't been expecting, but then his stomach plummeted as he checked the room number and saw it _was_ Sam's.

He pushed his way inside and was stopped near the door by Bobby who planted a hand against his chest.

"What's going on?" Dean demanded as he watched several doctors and nurses as they surrounded his brother.

"The pressure in Sam's head just spiked a few minutes ago," Bobby told him grimly. "They say he'll have to have surgery."

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

**Next chapter as promised! Thanks to everyone who has faced and reviewed so far!**

 **Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural and our medical knowledge comes from online sources so it's probably not very accurate.**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Six

Dean pushed by Bobby and hurried toward his brother. "Sammy?" he called even though he knew the younger Winchester couldn't respond.

"Stay back, sir," a nurse commanded. "We need to get him up to surgery."

"Not before I talk to him," Dean responded as he pushed his way to his brother's head. Carefully, he ran gentle fingers through the parts of Sam's hair he was able to touch. "You're not gonna die on me, Sammy. I won't let you die," he ordered softly into his brother's ear.

Gently he clasped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're gonna be upset when you wake up and find out they had to shave your head, kiddo." Dean allowed a small grin to curve his lips. "We'll get you a hat, or better yet – a tiara."

Bobby chuckled softly. "We'll be here when you wake up, Sam," he added.

"We really need to go now," the doctor insisted.

Dean nodded and swallowed hard past the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. "Don't you die, Sammy," he ground out one last time before the younger Winchester was wheeled from the room.

A kind nurse stood in the doorway. "I can show you to the surgical waiting room," she explained. "The doctor will find you there when the surgery is complete."

"Thank you," Bobby told her. He placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder and guided him out into the hallway.

Once they reached the waiting room, Dean fixed himself a strong cup of coffee and sank into a chair. He took a sip and managed not to sputter when he burned his lips. He placed the cup on the table and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His mind traveled back over the years to a time when he'd been terrified in a waiting room much like this one.

 _Dean curled in the corner of the backseat of the Impala while Sammy sat across from him wrapped in a worn blue blanket. Nine-year-old Dean shoved cars across the backseat, trying to crash them into his brother's. He leaned forward to bash one into Sammy's r_ ed _Mustang._

 _"Hey, no fair, Dean!" Sammy protested with a frown at his brother. He poked his tongue through the hole his missing front tooth had left._

 _Dean grinned. "Don't be a sore loser,_ " _he taunted._

 _"Dean!" Their father's voice cut through the earl_ y _evening air._

 _Cars forgotten, Dean scrambled to look out of the Impala's front window. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of his father staggering across the clearing, his torso stained with blood. "Dad!" he screamed as he clambered over the front seat and shoved the driver's side door open._

 _"Daddy!" Sammy yelled, his fingers gripping the back of the seat as he stared, horrified, at the bloody figur_ e _of his father._

 _"Stay there, Sammy," Dean yelled at him as John reached the car and sagged weakly against her. "Do you need me to go for help, Dad?" the young boy_ a _sked anxiously._

 _"Help me into the car," John pant_ e _d. "I can drive."_

 _Dean nearly tumbled out of the car at his father's feet and helped the older Winchester into the driver's seat. "You're really bleeding bad," Dean told his dad, his voice shaking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried to mask his fear so as not to alarm Sammy._

 _"Grab a towel from the back and hold it on my stomach to slow the bleeding while I_ drive _," John commanded._

 _Dean nodded and hurried to obey. Sam watched, white-faced, from the backseat as huge tears rolled down his cheeks. John shifted in the seat_ _and growled in pain._

 _As soon as Dean crawled into the passenger seat and slammed the door, John started the car and it wove down the road just under the speed limit, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. He groaned as Dean's hold on the towel pressed against his middle shifted with th_ e _movement of the car._

 _"Is Daddy gonna die, Dean?" Sam whimpered, trying his best to sound brave even_ though _he was terrified._

 _Dean trembled as he pushed the towel against his father's wound. "No, Sammy," he answered. His stomach twisted in fear as he took in the paleness of his father's face and the beads of sweat that had appeared on John's forehead. "W_ e _'re almost there, Dad."_

 _Sam nearly choked on a sob in the backseat as the car bounced over the curb when John pulled into th_ e _hospital's parking lot._

 _"Dad!" Dean bellowed as John slumped to one side. He jerked the wheel to the left to pull haphazardly into a parking space and pressed his foot on the brake desperately._ _The car jerked to a stop._

 _"Come here, Sammy," he called. "Hold the towel while I get help."_

 _"Is Daddy dead?" Sam asked as he scrambled shakil_ y _over the back of the seat._

 _"No, Sammy, just unconscious," Dean explained. "Now hold this. I'll be right back."_

 _Dean was covered in his father's blood. Sammy nearly gagged as he grasped the towel from his brother and applied pressure. John moaned and Sam whimpered. "I'm sorry, Daddy."_

 _"I'll hurry," Dean promised as he scrambled out of the passenger side door leaving bloody smears on the Impala's interior._

 _Dean ran toward the emergency room doors, his breath catching in his chest as his feet pounded against the blacktop. He burst through the ER doors. "Help! Please! My dad needs help!"_

 _"Where is he? Are you hurt?" a worried attendant asked._

 _Dean shook his head. "NO! It's my dad's blood. Hurry! He's in the car. We were camping and he got attacked by a bear."_

 _"Get a gurney," the hospital attendant told someone who was passing by, "and get some help. We have an injured man out in his car."_

 _"Hurry!" Dean nearly screamed. "My dad's gonna die and my little brother's with him." He needed to get back to his dad and Sammy._

 _"Okay, kid, lead the way," a doctor told Dean as he ran_ _with a trauma team rolling a gurney._

 _Dean jogged across the parking lot. It was dark outside now and the lot was well-lit. It was getting chilly and air fogged in clouds around his mouth as Dean huffed his breaths. "There, the black Impala," he pointed. "My dad's in the driver's seat."_

 _"What's his name_?" _the doctor tossed over his s_ h _oulder._

 _"John," Dean answered shakily._

 _The doctor arrived at the car first and flung open the door. "John, I'm Doctor Matthews. I'm here to help you." Doctor Matthews reached into the car. "Come on out, son. Let us take care of your dad." The man in the white coat lifted a bloody Sammy from the car. "Are you hurt?"_

 _Sam shook his head and as soon as his feet touched the pavement he ran to his big brother's side and buried his face against Dean's chest. The elder Winchester brother wrapped_ _his arms around Sam and held on tightly._

 _"They're gonna help Dad, Sammy. They've just got to stop_ t _he bleeding, okay?" Dean tried to soothe._

 _"But there's a lot of blood, Dean, and I couldn't get Daddy to wake up," Sam sobbed. He pulled back and looked up into his brother's face. "What if_ _Daddy dies, Dean? What will happen to us?"_

 _"Dad's not gonna die, Sam. I promise." Dean grasped his little brother by the shoulders and gave him a_ _shake. "Do you hear me? He's not gonna die."_

The words were nearly identical to the ones he'd whispered into his brother's ear before Sam had been whisked off to surgery. "You're not gonna die, Sam. Do you hear me? I won't let you die."

Sighing, Dean stood and began to pace, nervous energy not allowing him to sit still.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to start pacing," Bobby commented as he looked up from the newspaper that lay spread across his lap.

Dean snorted. "Well, you've been reading the same article since we got in here, so I really don't think you're faring much better than I am."

Bobby sighed, took off his trucker's hat, scratched his head, and then replaced it. "Son, all we can do now is wait. It's in the doctor's hands."

"Yeah," Dean barked shortly as he paced to the bay window that overlooked the roof of the hospital's parking garage.

"How are you feeling? Need some Tylenol?" Bobby patted the pocket of his flannel shirt.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. His wounds were sore and a headache was pounding at his temples. "Okay," he finally replied. "Yeah. Let me get some coffee."

"Water might be better," Bobby pointed out. "You drink much more caffeine and you won't be able to focus on what the doctor tells us about Sam."

Dean grumbled, but got a cup of water instead of the coffee he really wanted. After downing two Extra Strength Tylenol, he sank down into a chair and rested his head in his hands as hismind drifted back to the day of his father's injury.

 _Once John had been rushed into surgery, a nurse had shown the boys to the bathroom. Dean had scrubbed both himself and Sammy in an attempt to get their father's blood off both of them. The nurse had found some ill-fitting clothes for them to wear, which_ w _ere better than the blood soaked items they had on now._

 _Once they were clean and dressed, Sam huddled next to his big brother on the couch in the surgical waiting room. "What if Daddy dies, Dean? Who's going to take care of us?" His small fingers twisted anxiously in Dean's sweatshirt._

 _"I'll always take care of you, Sammy, but Dad's not going to die. The doctors are going to patch him up and then things will be back to normal," Dean tried to insist firmly._

 _Sam was a bright child, though, and he still had questions. "Where're we going to stay until Daddy is better? Are we going to live in the Impala?"_

 _Dean frowned. "We can't live in the Impala without Dad_ , _Sam. The nurse called Uncle Bobby. He's coming to get us."_

 _"Oh." Sam sounded relieved and finally allowed himself to relax against his brother. "Dean, if I fall asleep, will you wake me up when Uncle Bobby gets here?"_

 _"Sure, Sammy," Dean replied as he allowed his little brother to cu_ r _l against him to help ward off the chill of the waiting room._

 _Bobby arrived a few hours later. John was still in surgery; Sam was asleep; Dean, however, was staring morosely at the ceiling. "How's it going, kiddo?" Bobby asked quietly as he walked into the deserted waiting room._

 _"The nurse checked on us and said the doctor is still working on Dad." Dean cleared his throat when his voice wobbled a little. It had been a rough night, and his nine-year-old shoulders weren't quite broad enough to_ s _houlder all of the responsibility he'd been required to handle._

 _Bobby sat down beside his boys on the couch and draped his arm_ _around Dean's shoulder, pulling both Dean and Sammy against him._

 _"Uncle Bobby, what's gonna happen to us if Dad dies? I won't let anyone take Sammy away from me."_

 _"Don't you worry about that, Dean. You're daddy's not going to die, but if something should happen, you and Sammy would come live with me."_

Dean gave a sigh of relief and relaxed against the trusted hunter.

Snapping his thoughts back to the present, Dean pushed to his feet and began to pace once again. John had made it through the surgery that evening, but it had been touch and go for three days after that. Bobby had carried the boys to a hotel and made them shower and change into fresh clothes. They'd all taken naps and then gone straight back to the hospital to wait for news on John. By the time they knew the elder Winchester was going to live, they were all exhausted both physically and emotionally.

Dean felt the same way now. The way his brother had looked when he was being wheeled into emergency surgery was none too promising.

"Family of Samuel Winchester?" the doctor called.

"Right here," Dean answered as he tried to scan the doctor's face for any sign of how Sam was doing. He suddenly realized that Bobby was standing tensely at his side.

The doctor gave them a small smile. "Let's sit down."

Dean clenched and unclenched his hands before wiping his sweaty palms on his faded jeans. "How's my brother? Is Sam okay?"

To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

**New chapter! Sorry for the cliffie last time, hope this helps :)**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own the show, and we aren't doctors either. We didn't put a lot of detail in this chapter, but if you want to know the details of brain surgery you can check it out for yourselves :P**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

Chapter Seven

"The procedure went well," the doctor assured him first off as Dean almost fell into a seat, his legs too unsteady to stand anymore. He was stiff under the hand that Bobby put on his shoulder.

"What happened?" Dean asked quietly after clearing his throat.

"The pressure in Sam's head was reaching dangerous levels which was not helping his current state any. If we had left it any longer he would have possibly had permanent brain damage," the doctor said then proceeded to explain the procedure which only resulted in horrifying Dean more and making him sick to his stomach.

"Will he be alright?" Bobby asked, seeing Dean was speechless for the moment.

"We're monitoring him closely," the doctor told him. "He is by no means out of danger yet, and he won't be until he shows signs of coming out of the coma, but the surgery went well and I have high hopes that he will make a full recovery given the proper care and time."

"Thank you doctor," Bobby told him.

"C-can I see him?" Dean stammered, his hands clenched in his lap as he fought to keep them from trembling.

"Of course," the doctor told him with a kind smile. "He's being settled in a new room for observation right now. Within a few days, as long as everything is going well, we'll move him back to the one he was previously in."

Dean hurried after the doctor to the room Sam was being kept it. It was smaller and cramped by the time he and Bobby got chairs inside, but he felt a world better seeing Sam there. Well, sort of anyway. His little brother certainly looked a lot worse than he had before, if that were even possible. He was on a ventilator and his shaved head was swathed in bandages. Dean touched his nearly white cheek gently and slumped at his side before pulling the limp hand into his.

"Aw, Sammy," he muttered.

Bobby watched his boys with his chest aching. He hated when there was nothing he could do for them, and seeing how obviously helpless Dean felt made it even worse. He knew it was the hardest thing in the world for Dean to put his little brother's life into someone else's hands and trust them not to screw up. He sighed as he settled a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Is there anything I can do for you, son?"

Dean shook his head after a long moment. "No, Bobby. Just, maybe, I'd like to be alone for a bit."

"Okay," Bobby nodded. "I'll go get something to eat. Call me if you need anything."

Dean watched him leave before he turned back to Sam. The thought of the procedure Sam had gone through and he hadn't even been there for him made Dean angry and sick. He felt like he might throw up, his nerves were just simply shot. The thought of what Sam might be suffering from his own mind at the moment horrified him even more. Without knowing what damage had been done from his injury and if not then, during the surgery, he knew he wasn't going to rest until he saw some sign of life from his little brother.

"Come on, Sammy, I just need you to wake up, kiddo. Just for a minute then you can go back to sleep, I promise. I just need to see those puppy-dog eyes of yours." He chuckled slightly, trying to make himself feel better. "You're gonna be so PO'd when you see what they did to your head, dude. I remember when you were five and you cried when Dad had to chop your hair off when you got a lollypop stuck it in. Always such a girl, Samantha." He rubbed his thumb over Sam's knuckles, feeling several scabs from the accident. "Look, Sam, whatever is going on in there, just know it's not real. It's not really happening. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

He watched for any sign of life, any clue that Sam had heard him but there was nothing but the steady beeps from the monitors and the eerie sound of the ventilator as it breathed for Sam. Dean's fist clenched in his lap but he pushed his fear and frustrations aside.

"You always were a stubborn one," he said fondly. "Just, please, Sammy. Please be okay."

* * *

 _Sam wasn't entirely sure where he was. It looked like an abandoned warehouse, a typical place for him and Dean to be hunting. But Dean wasn't there, he could tell. He always knew when his big brother had his back, and he didn't feel that security at the moment, he felt very alone._

 _"Dean?" he tried calling, searching around through the shadows. "Dean?" He pulled out his cell phone but saw that there was no service. He reached into his jacket for a weapon but could find nothing. Why was he somewhere alone, apparently on a hunt, without anything to protect himself?_

 _He needed to get out of there. He headed for the closest exit, but before he could get there, two figures moved to stand in his path. He stopped, knowing he had to run the other direction since he didn't have a weapon, but he didn't get far for three more figures came to accost him. They surrounded him, evil grins on their faces, and then they flashed their black eyes. Demons!_

 _"We have something for you, Sam," one said with a leer. "Come on, you know you want it!"_

 _Sam tried to run, but two of the demons grabbed him and held him between them, unable to move. The demon who taunted him pulled out a knife and slit his forearm open, letting blood drip down onto the floor. "I know you want it, Sam."_

 _Sam shook his head. "No, stop. I'm clean now."_

 _"But you still want it. You crave it," the demon said, coming closer, raising his arm toward Sam's face. "You're nothing but an addict. Why do you think everyone has left you alone here?"_

 _"No, please," Sam pleaded, struggling to get away, but the demons grabbed him tighter as the other advanced slowly and gripped Sam's chin, forcing is mouth open as he held his arm over it. Sam tried everything he could, but he couldn't stop the blood dripping onto his tongue, the craving hitting him instantly. He screamed and struggled, but it was no use, he had already messed up. The demons laughed, finally letting him go and Sam crumpled to the ground, a headache splitting his skull so badly that he screamed, clutching it._

 _"I don't want it!" he screamed, feeling disoriented, the demon blood surging through his veins. "Please!"_

 _"Again, Sammy?"_

 _Sam looked up at the voice and saw Dean standing there, shaking his head._

 _"Dean, please, I didn't do it on purpose," he pleaded._

 _"You expect me to believe that?" Dean demanded, a look of disgust and mistrust on his face that tore Sam to pieces. "After all the times you promised to stop drinking that stuff and still did, behind my back?"_

 _"You always were a disappointment."_

 _Sam whipped around and saw his father standing there. "Dad?"_

 _"Dean should have put you out of your misery like I told him to."_

 _"You're an abomination." Cas appeared in front of him, angel blade in hand._

 _"You should know better than that, son, why do you keep making the same mistakes?" Bobby asked with disappointment._

 _Sam buried his aching head in his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"_

 _"Sorry isn't good enough, not anymore," Dean told him._

 _Sam cowered on the ground as their words bombarded him, tearing him up more than any weapon ever could._

 _"Disappointment."_

 _"Abomination."_

 _"Disgusting."_

 _"Always making mistakes…"_

* * *

 _Dean had dozed off with_ his chin propped in his hand, his eyes too tired to stay open another minute, when he was startled into wakefulness but a choking gasp. He leapt to his feet, his body protesting as he watched Sam's chest heave convulsively as he fought the ventilator to breathe for himself.

"Sammy?" Dean, cupped his face between his hands. "Doctor! I need a doctor in here!"

A second later two doctors rushed into the room and forced Dean to step back as they saw to Sam, relieving him of the ventilator and checking his vital signs. Dean watched anxiously as Sam took several shuddering breaths before his breathing evened out again, and his eyes flickered slightly.

"Sammy?" he called, pushing past the doctors to bend over his brother, gripping his hand again. "Sam, you awake? Can you hear me?"

But Sam didn't seem to want to wake up after all; whatever life had been in his moments before seemed to have retreated again. Dean turned to the doctors questioningly.

"What was that? Was he trying to wake up?"

"He was pulled from unconsciousness for a moment, it seems," one of the doctors told him. "It is common with coma patients. It's a good sign, it means the surgery worked."

"So will he wake up soon?" Dean demanded.

"It's hard to tell. A lot of coma patients show movement on occasion and can still stay in the same state for weeks or months. But the fact that he has shown some variation so soon is a good sign. Your brother is strong, Mr. Winchester. He has a very good chance of a full recovery."

Dean wasn't sure what to feel as he returned to his seat at Sam's side. He wasn't ready to put too much hope out there, but he did feel a bit of relief. Although, when he started thinking about what might make Sam fight to wake up like that, all that relief crashed in on itself. Maybe he was trying to escape from his own mind, and was unable to do so.

Bobby came back in soon after and Dean told him what had happened with Sam. Bobby knew it was probably still too early to hope, but he could see that just that little moment where Sam had showed some sign of life had made the elder Winchester all that much more relieved.

"Why don't you go eat something, Dean," Bobby told him after a while.

Dean reluctantly agreed and went down to the cafeteria, settling on a sandwich, which he did a little better on than he had before. He still didn't really feel up to eating, but his body felt like it needed food, so he forced himself to eat anyway. He knew what he really needed was sleep, but that would come later.

Bobby, on the other hand, had other ideas. It was getting late and he noticed the dark circles under Dean's eyes. "You should go back to the hotel and get a few hours of sleep," he said.

"What if Sam wakes up?" Dean asked.

"I doubt he'll wake up tonight, Dean, and if anything happens, I promise I'll call."

"Bobby—"

"No argument, son," Bobby told him firmly. "You've had a stressful day and you need to rest yourself. Now, can you get back there yourself?"

Dean nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good, see you tomorrow," Bobby shooed him out the door and Dean went against his will. It was the hardest thing to do, leaving Sam there, but he knew as long as Bobby was with him he would be okay. He was just worried about what would happen if Sam woke up and saw that Dean wasn't there. Would he think he abandoned him? Would he worry something happened to him? He had no idea what the state of Sam's mind would be when he woke, but he knew he couldn't allow himself to think like that or he would be running back to the hospital as fast as he could.

However, once he got to the hotel and actually remembered to dress in sleep clothes this time, he was too tired to really think about anything at all. He turned the TV on for background noise, but was asleep almost instantly.

He didn't wake up until eight the next morning, and frantically wrestled the cell phone from his discarded jeans to make sure there were no messages from Bobby, but there wasn't anything. Unfortunately, that meant Sam hadn't woken, up, but it also meant that he hadn't taken a turn for the worst either.

Dean got up and showered before heading back out to the hospital. On the way there, he passed a bookstore and stopped, looking in the window. He remembered what Cas had said about reading to coma patients. Dean had never been much of a reader himself, but he had always liked reading to Sam when he was little—there wasn't much else to do when John was away, after all. He thought maybe if he did so now, it would bring back memories that weren't so bad, ones to combat whatever was going on in Sam's head at the moment. He went inside and looked around, not really knowing what he was looking for until he found his way to the fantasy section.

There he saw a copy of _The Hobbit_ and memories flooded back to an eight-year-old Sammy who had brought the book home from the school library and wanted Dean to read it to him. They'd spent many hours curled up on the couch together reading it and Dean smiled, knowing it was the perfect choice. He grabbed a copy, and went up to pay for it.

He came back to the hospital to find an exhausted Bobby half asleep in the chair beside Sam's bed.

"You should go back to the hotel, I'm good here for now," Dean assured him, taking the chair as Bobby stood up with a grunt and stretched painfully.

"Alright, I'll see you later then. Let me know if anything happens."

Dean pulled the chair up to the bed and touched Sam's cheek, thinking he saw just a little color there again. He took a deep breath and then pulled the book from his jacket.

"Okay, Sammy, Cas said it's good to read to coma patients, so we'll give this a shot. If you can hear me, let me know." He flipped to the first page and cleared his throat. " ' _In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit…'"_

 _To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8

**On to chapter eight now! Hope everyone had a good weekend :) Thanks for everyone who has been reading the story, please let us know what you think :)**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Eight

Dean read about the adventures of Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, and Gandalf the wizard until his throat was dry, his voice cracked, and he couldn't stop coughing long enough to read a sentence. With a tired sigh, he put the book down on Sam's bedside table and studied his brother's face. Dean had to admit that Sam's coloring looked a tiny bit better, but the young man hadn't stirred the entire time Dean had been reading.

"Time to wake up, sleepyhead," Dean ordered as he reached out and squeezed his brother's forearm. "You're going to freak when you see your haircut." He waited and stared at Sam, but there was no movement. "Come on, man, at least give me a little twitch or something."

When Sam didn't comply with his request, Dean sighed once again. He was doing an awful lot of that these days. He leaned back in the uncomfortable vinyl yellow recliner that seemed to be standard in hospital rooms across the country. The cushion was lumpy, and no matter which way he shifted Dean could not get comfortable. The vinyl made him get hot and sweaty, and he longed for the comfort of his hotel bed although he would never leave Sam alone. He hoped Bobby was getting some sleep.

Dean rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the lumpy chair and the sweat-inducing vinyl. He allowed his mind to wander and soon soft snores escaped his mouth once he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 _Dean groaned as he shifted on the surgical waiting room's uncomfortable couch. He had fallen asleep with his head tilted to the side and now he had the king of all cricks in his neck. He rubbed at the knotted muscles and grimaced in pain as they protested._

 _"Mr. Winchester?"_

 _Dean looked up, grimacing as his neck ached, to see Sam's doctor standing in the doorway. The man was wearing green scrubs and still had the paper surgical cap covering his hair. Dean felt bile rise in his throat at the sight of the doctor's scrub top covered in smears of blood – Sam's blood. It was everywhere; there were bloodstains on the man's pants and even splattered on his shoes. Dean stood up and wiped his suddenly sweaty hands nervously on his jeans. "How's my brother?" he asked after clearing his throat nervously._

 _"Come with me, Mr. Winchester. We can speak privately in this room over here." The doctor gestured to a small room in the corner that Dean hadn't noticed before._

 _The elder Winchester brother stumbled behind the doctor into the tiny room and sat in an uncomfortable pink chair. "My brother?" he asked again as soon as the doctor took a seat._

 _"Mr. Winchester, we did what we could to relieve the pressure in Sam's brain. The damage to the brain, however, was already very extensive. Then, we were unable to stop the bleeding. The brain damage was irreparable, Mr. Winchester. Then your brother's heart stopped and we were unable to resuscitate him. I'm sorry, but your brother did not survive the surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain. You have my sincerest condolences."_

 _"What?" Dean gaped at him before surging to his feet. "That can't be right. You're lying!"_

 _"Why would I lie to you about this, Mr. Winchester?" the doctor asked calmly._

 _"I don't know!" Dean roared angrily, his heart aching at the thought of never having Sammy by his side ever again. "Maybe you're a demon or a vampire or some other supernatural freak that wants my brother! Wouldn't be the first time!"_

 _The doctor faced Dean angrily. "See for yourself! Your brother's body is still in the operating room." He grabbed Dean by the upper arm and nearly dragged him down the hallway. As they reached the double doors, the doctor pushed them open and shoved Dean inside. The room was empty save for Sam's lifeless body._

 _Dean felt as if time came to a stop. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of his brother's body, his head covered in blood as was the floor around the table. "Sammy?" he whispered, his voice loud in the room's quiet. He swallowed back the vomit that rose in the back of his throat and reluctantly stepped forward. "Sam, you have to wake up. The doctor said you're dead. He's lying! He has to be lying!"_

 _Dean approached his brother's body with trepidation. He reached out a hesitant hand and touched Sam's arm. It was cold. "Sam!" he nearly screamed then, casting his gaze toward his younger brother's face._

 _Sam's pale skin was stained with blood and the surgical site in his head had not been closed. Dean could see Sam's brain. His stomach churned and he turned to the side and vomited. "Sammy! No, Sammy!" he sobbed, falling to his knees beside the puddle of sickness._

* * *

"Sam! No!" Dean cried out as he lurched to a sitting position. He groaned in agony when his neck seized from his sleeping position in the recliner. His heart pounded in his chest and his stomach twisted as he glanced at Sam sleeping in the bed before him. Reaching out, Dean sagged in relief as he felt Sam's warm skin. Fixing his eyes on his brother's chest, Dean concentrated on its rhythmic rise and fall. Sam was alive.

Without warning, his stomach rebelled. Dean surged to his feet and barely made it to the small bathroom attached to Sam's room before he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He trembled all over as his legs gave way beneath him and he tumbled backwards into the wall. The world around him was spinning. Taking deep breaths, he willed his stomach to settle and the room to right itself.

It took a few minutes before he felt strong enough to stand. He flushed the toilet and then leaned against the sink as he washed his hands. Dean splashed cool water on his face before snatching a paper towel and patting his skin dry. The water revived him a bit and he shuffled back to the dreaded yellow chair at his brother's bedside.

"You've gotta wake up, Sam," Dean begged quietly after a quick glance at the doorway to ensure no one was listening. He reached for his brother's hand and squeezed it tightly. "I can't do this without you, Sammy. I need you here with me, dude."

When there was no response, Dean carefully arranged Sam's hand back on the blanket and picked up their book. "Let's read a few more chapters, kiddo," he sighed. Dean knew he wouldn't be able to sleep again any time soon.

* * *

 _Sam glanced down at the warm body that clambered up onto the cushions and snuggled next to him on the couch._

 _"Read to me, Daddy," the little boy begged hopefully._

 _Sam chuckled. "All right. What book do you want me to read, Matthew?"_

 _The little boy produced a dog-eared thick paperback from behind his back. "Read Bilbo, please," he asked with a gap-toothed grin._

 _Sam gazed down at his six-year-old son who had Dean's green eyes and Jess's smile. "Of course," he grinned. Matthew had asked for a new chapter of "Bilbo" each night before bedtime for the past week._

 _Dressed snuggly in his pajamas and smelling of shampoo, Matthew curled up against his father's side. "Daddy, I'm happy tomorrow's your birthday," the little boy yawned. "We get to have cake. Mommy said so."_

 _Sam ruffled his son's hair. "Yes, you can have cake."_

 _"I wish Uncle Dean could come to your party," Matthew sighed. He loved his Uncle Dean. He was so much fun to play with._

 _Sam's heart ached a bit at his son's words. He missed his brother; it had been several months since Dean had stopped in for a visit. He'd been busy hunting with Bobby several states over, but Sam knew that if it was at all possible his brother would call him for his birthday tomorrow. "I'm sure Uncle Dean will call, and if he does you can talk to him."_

 _The doorbell rang just as Matthew climbed into his dad's lap and settled in for a chapter of his favorite book._

 _"I'll get it!" Jess called from the kitchen._

 _Sam watched as Jess appeared in the kitchen doorway with their almost three-year-old on her hip. Cody whined to be put down, but Jess held him tightly. Sam enjoyed the gentle sway of her hips as she moved to the doorway. His body tensed as she peered through the peep hole, his old hunter instincts on alert._

 _A wide smile wreathed her face as she stepped back and tugged the door open. "You made it!"_

 _"Unca Deeeaaannn!" Cody squealed, reaching for the elder Winchester brother._

 _Dean laughed and reached for his smallest nephew. "Hey, buddy! You've grown so much!"_

 _"I go pee-pee in the big boy potty now," Cody informed his Uncle Dean seriously._

 _Dean laughed and bounced the boy on his hip. "Great! No more diapers for Uncle Dean to change!"_

 _"Dean, what are you doing here?" Sam asked as he stood and placed his older son carefully on the floor._

 _"I came to see my baby brother on his birthday," Dean smirked, bracing for impact as Matthew threw himself at his uncle._

 _"Uncle Dean! Uncle Dean! Can you read my bedtime story tonight?" he asked eagerly._

 _"No!" Cody spat petulantly. "Mine!" His fingers twisted in the soft fabric of Dean's t-shirt._

 _Sam's eyes twinkled in amusement as Jess laughed out loud._

 _He moved to wrap an arm around his wife's waist. "Looks like the boys are going to fight over Uncle Dean."_

 _"Chill out, dude," Dean smiled as he poked Cody's tummy gently. "There's enough of me to go around." He grinned down at Matthew and ruffled the boy's hair. "I'll read to your little brother first," he explained. "His book will be shorter and once he's asleep we can read your book."_

 _Matthew hopped up and down in delight as Sam stepped forward and clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It's good to see you, man. It's been too long."_

 _"The boys ask about you constantly," Jess chastised gently._

 _Dean sighed. "I know, and they are growing up so fast. I'll have to stop by more often."_

 _Cody grabbed Dean's cheeks and turned his uncle's face towards him. "Uncle Dean, read!" he crowed._

 _"Use your manners, Cody," Jess prompted her youngest._

 _"Pwease," Cody sighed, his lower lip coming out in a pout._

 _"Come on," Dean grinned as he kept Cody on his hip and took Matthew by the hand. "Let's go upstairs."_

 _Once they had disappeared into Cody's bedroom, Sam turned on his wife. "You knew he was coming and didn't tell me."_

 _Jess stepped up close to her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek to his chest and smiled as she listened to the thud of his heart. "I didn't want you to be disappointed if something came up and he couldn't make it," she admitted. "I called and invited him over a month ago."_

 _"Thanks, Jess," Sam sighed. "My entire family is here under one roof. Nothing else could make me happier."_

 _"Hm, I don't know about that," she grinned as she reached into the pocket of her jeans._

 _Sam quirked an eyebrow at his wife. "Jessica Winchester, what have you done?"_

 _"It's what we've done," she explained as she tugged a white plastic stick out of her pocket. "Happy birthday!"_

 _Sam's eyes widened at the sight of the positive pregnancy test in his hands. "We-we're pregnant?" he stammered._

 _Jess grinned. "Happy birthday, Sam. Maybe you'll get that little girl you've always wanted." She stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on her husband's lips. Sam's arms tightened around her, the pregnancy test still in his hand as he deepened the kiss._

 _A sudden pounding in his head made him lose focus. Jess wavered in and out of his line of sight. His body felt as if he was falling, and suddenly his perfect little family was gone._

* * *

Dean put the book down on the bedside table and poured himself a cup of water. "Gotta give my voice a break, Sammy," he explained to his brother as sipped on the tepid water.

Sam's eyelids fluttered and his forehead creased before smoothing out once again.

Dean nearly dropped his cup in his haste to place it on the table. "Sammy?" he questioned as he took his brother's hand in his own and squeezed it. "Come on, dude, open your eyes for me," he ordered. There was no response, but Sam's forehead crinkled once again.

Dean reached out gentle fingers and smoothed them over the wrinkles. "I bet you have a monster of a headache," he commiserated. "Open your eyes and let me know you're okay in there and then we can get you something for the pain," he told his brother.

Sam didn't respond, but Dean kept his eyes trained on his brother's face watching for any signs of movement or wakefulness.

The doctor entered the room about an hour later for his rounds. "How is Sam doing today, Mr. Winchester?" he asked Dean.

Dean looked up briefly from Sam's face. "His eyelids were moving and he was scrunching up his forehead."

"That may mean he is moving closer to consciousness," the doctor explained. He stopped forward and took Sam's hand in his own. "Sam, squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

The silence in the room was nearly palpable. Finally, the doctor released Sam's hand. "He didn't respond, but that isn't abnormal."

Dean took Sam's hand in his own and squeezed it. "Come on, Sammy. Let's show him how it's done. Squeeze my hand, dude. I know you can hear me. Stop being stubborn or I'll rip you a new one when you wake up. Squeeze my hand, Sam." Dean waited with baited breath for a response, and then finally he felt it – just the tiniest bit of pressure on his hand.

A grin nearly split his face in two. "That's it, Sammy! I knew you could do it!" Dean looked up at the doctor eagerly and watched as the man smiled.

"Keep talking to him and reading to him," the doctor told Dean. "I'm going to have a physical therapist come in starting tomorrow so that we can exercise his limbs to keep him strong."

Dean nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

Once the man was gone, the elder Winchester turned back to his little brother. "Good job, Sammy. Now we need to work on getting your eyes open," Dean grinned, his face set in determination.

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey everyone, back again! Hope you had a good weekend, and hope this might help getting back to the grind ;) As always thanks for those who have taken the time to read and review this story!**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

Chapter Nine

Dean had almost finished reading _The Hobbit_ by the time Bobby came back to the hospital that afternoon. He had been both elated and disappointed that in that time Sam had twitched a couple more times, though without waking. The more he showed signs of it, however, the better Dean started feeling. He just hoped Sam would be himself when he woke up; that was all he asked, even if he took a long time to recover, he just wanted his little brother to be in there, whole and still memory free from his time in hell.

"Docs think he'll wake up soon?" Bobby asked after Dean had related the news.

The elder Winchester shrugged helplessly. "They won't really say; guess they don't want to get our hopes up, but it's a good sign apparently."

Bobby pulled the second chair over to the bed and touched Dean on the shoulder. "You should go get some rest."

Dean shook his head. "No way, not now. There's no way I'm gonna be gone if he wakes up."

Bobby decided to let it slide for now, for which Dean was grateful. He just couldn't stand the thought of Sam waking up and not finding him there. Who knows what kind of conclusions he would come to if that happened? No, even though he really could use some sleep in a real bed, he wasn't going to leave. Instead, he picked up the book again and continued through the last chapter as Bobby left him to get something to eat, promising to bring back coffee.

Dean was just finishing up the book when he looked up and saw Cas standing in the doorway. He set the book aside.

"You don't have to knock, you know," he said.

The angel stepped up to the bed, looking down at Sam. "How is he?"

"Better, actually," Dean said, then amended that. "Well, the docs say he could wake up soon, anyway. Whether or not he's actually better is yet to be determined."

Cas touched Sam's forehead briefly. "He seems not so deeply unconscious, but I still can't tell you where his mind is. He does seem to be somewhat agitated though."

Dean shifted, not sure that was a good thing or not. "So what if it's the worse case scenario? What do we do? The doctors aren't going to know what to do for him, there's nothing they would be able to do and they'd probably call him crazy and clap him in a straitjacket and ship him off to the first loony bin they could find."

Cas was quiet for a long moment before he turned to meet Dean's eyes. "I have looked into some things and I found that it would be possible to transfer memories if it came to that."

"And how does that work? Who would we transfer them too?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Cas told him, looking away. "But let's hope we won't have to worry about it."

Bobby came back then and greeted Cas as he sat down and handed Dean a cup of coffee, cutting off their conversation for the time being.

"You got any inside info on Sam here, Cas?" Bobby asked the angel.

Castiel shook his head. "I can't tell, I think he's still a little confused. But he seems closer to the surface than the last time I checked him. I would say it's possible he could wake within the next few days."

Sam's eyelids flickered as if in agreement, and all three men leaned in closer, Dean sliding his hand over Sam's arm, squeezing slightly. "Come on, buddy," he pleaded quietly. "I know it's nice to get some sleep, but I really need you to wake up."

He slumped back after another few minutes of nothingness. Cas gave him a small smile.

"Do not be discouraged, Dean. I have seen you and Sam come back from more than I could ever imagine a human could. Sam will wake up when he is ready." He didn't say what they were all thinking—that maybe it was a mercy Sam had been unconscious for this long.

Cas had to leave again shortly, and Dean and Bobby kept vigil quietly for a while before Dean started reading again, finishing the book and decided he would start it over again the next day or maybe get another book he and Sam had read as kids. It at least gave him something to do while he waited for Sam to wake up and he hoped it might help.

It was getting late again, and Bobby finally announced he was going back to the hotel for a few hours of sleep. Dean hardly acknowledged his leaving. He just kept watching Sam, seeing his eyes now shifting under his eyelids and his brow furrowed slightly as if he were having a troubling dream. Dean rubbed his arm lightly, his new mechanism of comfort since he no longer had Sam's long hair to smooth back. He missed that more than he would ever admit to his brother.

The night more on, and Dean started to drift off on several occasions before he jerked himself back into wakefulness. There was no way he was going to fall asleep and miss Sam waking up. Yeah, he knew he was going to have to get sleep sometime, especially if it took several more days, but he just had a feeling that it would be sooner, and he couldn't stand the thought of missing it. Eventually, however, he was almost prying his eyes open and he finally stood up with a sigh and stretched.

"Sorry, Sammy, I'm gonna have to get some coffee at least. I'll be right back, I promise."

He hurried out of the room to the coffee machine down the hall, unknowingly leaving his brother locked in a nightmare back in the room.

* * *

 _Sam didn't know where he was. He had woken up in a hospital room, but no one else seemed to be around. He couldn't even tell where he was hurt except that his head was pounding. Must have hit it, he decided as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was a bit shaky, but he could get around. He grabbed his clothes and then hurried out of the room, wondering where Dean was._

 _He vaguely remembered the hunt they had been on, the ghost on the highway. He remembered seeing the hitchhiker and then the Impala running off the road into the ditch and then nothing. He must have been knocked out. Boy, Dean had to be hopping mad about the Impala; he hoped she wasn't too badly damaged._

 _But he had to find Dean first. He walked down long corridor after long corridor but could never seem to find anyone. No one was around. The place was eerily quiet. He wished he had some sort of weapon, maybe something had happened here while he had been unconscious. How long had he been out anyway?_

 _He decided to call out for Dean, but nothing came out of his mouth but a whisper. No matter how hard he tried, that was all he could manage. He thought about calling Cas too, maybe he would know what had happened, or where Dean was. Sam reached into his jacket pockets for his cell phone, hoping that would work, but it wasn't there. He must have lost it in the accident._

 _Okay, things were really starting to annoy him now. His head was pounding more than he could stand and he held it with one hand while he stumbled down more hallways that were just as deserted as the rest._

 _Finally he made it down some stairs, not really knowing where he was going until he felt the chill air and saw the drawers on the walls and realized he was in the hospital morgue._

 _He tried calling out here too, but no one was there. There was just one table in the center of the room with a sheet-covered body lying there. Sam didn't know what possessed him to step forward, but he suddenly knew he had to look. He had to know what was under that sheet. His head pounded even more as he stepped forward; and then carefully, his heart in his throat, he grasped the edge of the sheet and peeled it back._

 _Dean's face stared back at him._

* * *

Sam screamed, or tried to, it was more a yelp. His eyes flew open, and he looked around, horrified to find himself in a hospital room. He was disoriented, woozy, feeling a sense of déjà vu, and his head pounded so much it nearly blinded him. But not enough so that he couldn't see that Dean wasn't there.

He tried to move, to call out, but nothing came out of his mouth, his throat was so dry, he almost choked. Finally after several poor attempts, he managed a short "D'n," but barely a whisper. Frustrated, he reached for a cup he saw on the side table but only knocked it off instead. Tears slid down his face uncontrollably. Where was his brother? He just wanted Dean.

What if the dream he had hadn't been a dream, or had been some sort of hallucination? Maybe Dean really was dead, and he was all alone here, confused, with his head aching so much he had to close his eyes again.

He wondered if he should hit the call button for the nurse, but couldn't even make out which one it would be. He was very disoriented, and in pain, and frantic to find Dean or at least what had happened to him.

"D'n," he tried again, his tongue so heavy he could barely maneuver it around his brother's simple name, let alone project his voice enough to be heard. Defeated, and feeling alone, he slumped back and closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks and sobs shuddering in his chest. Where was Dean?

* * *

 _Dean finally got the_ coffee and headed back to the room, hoping the caffeine would help to wake him up. He decided it wouldn't hurt to catch a few minutes of sleep in the chair. Surely if Sam did wake up that night, he would let him know.

As he approached the room, a muffled sound stopped him in his tracks. It was faint and hardly distinguishable, but Dean would know any form of his name if it came from his brother at a time of distress, and his heart leapt into his throat as he practically barreled into the room, his eyes instantly on the bed. Sam's blankets were disheveled, a cup of water had splashed to the floor, and his brother was sobbing in the bed, his hands twisting in the blanket.

"Sammy," Dean breathed.

His little brother's eyes shot open and mixed feelings spread over his face as if not sure what he was seeing was real. Dean hurried over to the bed and grabbed Sam's hand, his own trembling with emotion as Sam's wet, hazel eyes locked onto his.

"Sammy, I'm here, it's okay."

"D'n," it was only a whisper, but that was all Dean needed. Tears slid down his own cheeks as he grinned, relief surging through him that his brother was back and seemed more or less whole, if a little distressed.

"It's okay, little brother. You're gonna be alright," he told him.

And all of a sudden Sam reached out and gripped Dean's arms tighter than the elder Winchester thought possible in his condition, his fingers grasping and pulling at Dean as if letting go wasn't even an option. There was real fear in his eyes as tears continued to fall, and Dean moved to sit on the side of the bed, reading his brother's expression without having to hear him say anything.

"I'm sorry I was gone, Sammy. I'm so sorry. But I'm alright, and you will be too now."

Dean saw his brother's chest shudder in another sob, maybe of relief this time, or residue fright, and he couldn't take it anymore. For the sake of not jostling him too much, he bent over and wrapped his arms around Sam, gathering him against his chest, hoping it would calm him.

"I was so worried, Sammy," Dean whispered into his ear, feeling the trembling still shaking through Sam's body. His brother felt so frail against him and it made him swallow hard. "I was so afraid you would never wake up."

The contact seemed to settle Sam. He eventually stopped shaking, and his breathing evened against Dean's throat, even though his hands still clutched Dean's shirt in a deathgrip.

"D'n," Sam whispered again. There was a pause, and Dean heard him clearing his throat but nothing came. He pressed against Dean's chest and the elder brother gently laid him back, so he could see his face but kept a hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy?"

"D'n," Sam whispered insistently, a frown deepening his brows as his mouth worked, but nothing came out. His hands tightened in Dean's shirt until his knuckles were white and Dean finally grabbed his wrists and pulled them away, letting Sam's fingers wrap around his own.

"Sammy? You good?" Dean asked, a sick feeling starting in the pit of his stomach.

Sam's mouth worked again, as he frowned in frustration, his fingers digging into Dean's hands, and then finally, his face crumpled as he looked up at Dean in desperation.

Dean swallowed hard and voiced the thought that was in his head. "Sammy? Can you…can you talk?"

Tears streamed down Sam's cheeks as he shook his head and Dean held him close to him again so his little brother wouldn't see the fear in his own eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sammy," he whispered as a little of his former relief came crashing down.


	10. Chapter 10

**On to Chapter Ten! We'll see how Sam and Dean deal with this new issue. Thanks as always for reading, following, and reviewing :)**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Ten

"D'n," Sam choked out desperately against his brother's chest.

Dean swallowed hard and longed to be able to stroke his hand through his brother's hair. Instead, he settled for squeezing Sam's shoulder. "We'll figure this out, Sam," he told his younger brother, trying to sound confident. "The doctors will know how to fix this."

Sam's arm flailed out and he reached for his head. Dean immediately grabbed it and pulled it down as he lowered Sam back against the sheets. "Hang on, Sammy. You've gotta leave your head alone, dude. The doctors had to crack open that giant melon of yours to relieve the pressure."

Sam's eyes widened and he reached for his head once again as he tried to force words past his lips.

"Hang on," Dean cautioned as he grasped his brother's hand and carefully guided the tips of Sam's fingers to brush against the bandages covering his head. He watched as his younger brother's eyes widened in horror.

"It will be okay, Sam. Hair grows back, buddy," Dean assured his brother. He watched as Sam swallowed hard and knew his brother was trying to hide his feelings. "I'll get you some hats to wear until it does." Dean was just thankful that Sam seemed to have his sanity and that the wall hadn't broken as it very well could have.

Sam shook his head and gave his brother a bitch face.

Dean sighed. "Let's just take this one day at a time, Sam. I'll get the nurse to let the doctor know you're awake." He jolted in surprise when Bobby's voice filled the room.

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided I'd just come on back to the hospital." The older hunter stopped and stared at the Winchesters, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Good to see you awake, Sam."

Dean placed a gentle hand against his brother's chest and winced as the wounds on his own back pulled. "Bobby, could you let the nurse know Sam is awake and that he needs to see the doctor."

Worry lines creased Bobby's forehead. "Is Sam all right?" He stepped closer to the bed and placed a comforting hand on Sam's leg through the hospital's blanket.

Dean kept his eyes on his brother's face and did his best to keep his voice calm, steady, and reassuring. "Seems to be, except for a little trouble talking. We just want the doc to check him over."

Bobby's gaze flicked from Dean to Sam and back again. "I'll go find the nurse."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean told him as he focused all of his attention back on his younger brother. "We'll get through this, Sammy. You've had a brain injury and surgery. I'm sure it takes a while for everything to sort itself out." Sam was so pale that it worried Dean as did the dark circles under his younger brother's eyes.

The nurse preceded Bobby into the room. "Hi there, Sam. I'm Karen, and I'll be taking care of you today. I put a call in to your doctor, and he will be here shortly. I'm going to check your vitals and we'll go from there. Your friend says you are having difficulty speaking."

Sam nodded and looked to his brother anxiously. Dean moved his hand to rest firmly on Sam's forearm.

"Head injuries can be tricky," Karen soothed. "The doctor will be here soon and he'll try to get you all sorted out."

Sam nodded his understanding, the movement escalating the pounding in his head, and had just closed his eyes when a knock sounded on the door.

"Good to see you alert, Sam," the doctor smiled as he entered the room. "I hear you are having some difficulty with speech."

Sam nodded once again, but winced as it made his head ache that much worse.

The doctor seemed to understand. "Next time blink once for no and twice for yes."

Sam blinked twice to show he understood.

The doctor glanced up at Sam and Bobby. "I'm going to ask the two of you to step out while I examine Sam."

"D'n," Sam slurred, gripping his brother's sleeve.

"I'm not leaving my brother, Doc," Dean said firmly. He settled himself on the bed next to his brother's arm and patted Sam's chest gently.

The doctor nodded briefly. "Is that all right with you, Sam?" he asked his patient.

Sam rapidly blinked twice and did not let go of his brother's sleeve. He allowed the doctor to check his reflexes and his eyes.

Next, the man pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down. "Sam, let's see if we can figure out what's going on with your speech." He glanced up at Dean. "Has he been able to speak at all since he woke up?"

"Just my name and it's a little slurred," Dean explained as he shifted closer to Sam.

"Let's try a few questions and see what happens," the doctor smiled kindly. "What's your name?" he asked.

Sam frowned and worked at it, finally managing a feeble "s" sound like the beginning of the word snake.

"Good job, Sammy," Dean enthused as he gave his brother's arm a squeeze.

Sam only grunted in frustration.

"What about your friend out there, the one in the hat?" the doctor asked kindly.

Sam tried, but couldn't even begin to form Bobby's name. Anger and frustration seeped out of him and he made the unconscious move to run his fingers through his hair.

"Woah, buddy," Dean stopped him, catching his hands with his own. "It's okay, Sammy. This will get better, won't it, Doc?" he asked as he gave the man a pointed glare.

The doctor sighed. "Well, I'd like to do another scan of your brain, Sam. I'll also schedule an intake exam with a speech therapist. Head injuries can be tricky. Sometimes the issues will resolve themselves with time. There can be a full or partial recovery. The scan may tell us more, or it may not. We will just have to take this one step at a time."

Sam grunted in frustration and tried to pull his hands from Dean's grip, but his brother held on tight.

"Thanks, Doc," Dean sighed. "Thank you for helping Sam."

"My pleasure." The doctor stood and gave Sam a kind smile. "We will do our best to get you all straightened out, Sam. Don't give up hope. The nurse will let you know once your scan is scheduled. I'll send your friend back in."

Sam ripped his hands from Dean's grasp and fisted them in the sheets instead.

Bobby entered the room and looked anxiously at Dean. "What did he say?"

Dean straightened the sheets around his brother, but Sam brushed his hands away angrily. "They want to do another brain scan and they're going to set up an appointment with a speech pathologist. Guess they'll know more after the scan."

Bobby sank down into the chair the doctor had vacated. "Well, why don't you go get some rest? I'll stay here with Sam."

Dean felt his brother's fingers twist into his sleeve once again, and he shook his head. "No, I'm gonna stay with Sam until they start to figure things out. I am going to go grab a cup of coffee. Are you okay with that, Sam?"

The younger Winchester looked a bit hesitant, but he blinked twice for yes.

"Two blinks means yes, Bobby," Dean informed the older hunter before turning back to Sam. "I'll hurry," he assured him.

"Get something to eat while you're at it," Bobby instructed. "You need to take care of yourself, too."

Dean nodded and hurried out of the room. He decided a quick trip to the hospital's gift shop was the first order of business. He quickly scanned the small shop until his eyes landed on the notepads. A grin curved his lips as he found a lined pink notepad with a purple castle decorating the bottom of each page. "Perfect," he grinned.

As Dean reached the register and tugged his wallet out of his back pocket with a grimace, he eyed the pens that sat in a canister on the counter. There was a pink one with a fluffy pink pom-pom on the end.

"Will this be all?" the cashier asked as she scanned the notepad.

"I'll take this pen as well," Dean told her as he handed her the pink writing implement.

The woman smiled. "Some little girl is going to be very happy."

Dean chuckled and then smirked. "Very happy," he repeated as he imagined the bitch face Sam would give him.

Once he had paid for Sam's gifts, Dean quickly purchased a sandwich and a cup of coffee which he carried back up to Sam's room with him.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief when his brother reentered the room. A tray of food had been delivered for him consisting of soup, a roll, and a cup of Jello. None of it looked appetizing. His head was pounding so badly that he wasn't really hungry anyways.

Dean placed his sandwich and coffee on the bedside table and eyed Sam's food tray with distaste. "Eat your food, Princess, and then you can have the present I bought you."

Sam gazed at his brother with suspicion while Bobby chuckled. "Something tells me to be cautious of your brother, Sam," the older hunter warned cheerfully.

Sam forced himself to swallow a spoonful of soup without gagging and then blinked twice at Bobby for "yes." He knew with the grin that now wreathed Dean's face that his brother was up to something. He took another taste of the soup and made a face. It was truly terrible.

Dean leaned over to examine the bowl and wrinkled his nose. "Dude, that stuff smells awful and looks worse. Glad I'm not the one that has to eat it."

Bobby cuffed him on the back of the head. "Be nice to your invalid brother."

Sam grinned tiredly and forced down more soup before he gave up. He moved on to the Jello. While not exactly something he liked, it had better flavor than the soup. Once he was finished, he shifted against the pillows trying to get comfortable. He was exhausted and his head hurt so badly he was nauseous.

Then, suddenly, his brother was there, shifting pillows, tugging him around on the bed, and tucking in blankets.

"Better, Sammy?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam blinked twice and fought a yawn.

"Don't go to sleep yet," Dean grinned. "Here, look what I got you." He held out the brown paper bag from the gift shop.

Sam took it in hands that trembled from weakness and exhaustion and upended it in his lap. The pink notepad and the pen with the fluffy pom-pom tumbled into his lap.

Both Dean and Bobby snorted with laughter. "Now you can communicate with us, Princess," Dean told him as he squeezed his little brother's knee.

Sam glared silently at his brother.

"Don't be such a bitch, Sam," Dean snickered.

Sam tugged the top off of the pink pen and wrote "JERK!" in all capital letters across the notepad.

Dean practically howled with laughter.

Bobby poked him in the arm. "Behave before you get us thrown out of here, ya idjit!" He stood and stretched. "I'm going to head out and get some sleep. Dean, let your brother rest."

Sam yawned and then winced when it made his head pound. He closed his eyes to the sound of his brother and Bobby speaking quietly in the doorway. It didn't take long for his exhausted body to surrender to sleep.

* * *

 _Sam crept slowly down the dark hallway. Dean was several yards ahead of him, his gun at the ready. That was when Sam saw it, the angry monster sliding down from the overhead vent. He tried to call out to his brother, but the words refused to come out. His mouth was sealed shut._

 _Sam reached up with his hand to feel his lips. A row of wide stitches made with thick thread were painfully obvious to his fumbling fingers. He tried to get his fingertips beneath them to pull them out so that he could warn his brother. Pain flared through his lips, and he watched in horror as the creature leapt onto his brother's back and began to tear Dean to shreds._

* * *

Sam woke with a start, flailing and attempting to sit up despite the wires and tubes attached to his body. "D'n!" he choked out as he cast his eyes around desperately for his brother.

Dean was immediately at Sam's side. He rested a comforting hand on his brother's chest and felt his wildly beating heart. "It's okay, Sam. It was just a dream. Everything's all right."

Sam gasped for air and his fingers clutched desperately at his brother's arm. His head pounded mercilessly and his stomach rolled.

Dean used his free hand to squeeze Sam's shoulder. "Come on, man. You need to calm down."

Sam's breath hitched in his throat and he looked at his brother as he swallowed convulsively. Dean read his brother's mind and snatched up the room's trash can, holding it under Sam just in time for the younger Winchester to vomit weakly into it.

Dean rubbed his brother's shoulder until the vomiting stopped and then helped Sam lean back against the pillows. "You're all right, buddy," he soothed quietly.

Sam grasped Dean's sleeve and twisted his fingers into the flannel material. He screwed his eyes shut and willed the ache in his head to go away.

Dean placed his hand on the side of Sam's neck and began stroking the skin there with his thumb in a slow, steady rhythm. It took a while, but Sam finally relaxed. "Good job, Sammy," Dean murmured.

A knock on the door made Dean look up. Sam's nurse, Karen, stood there looking at the brothers in concern. "Is everything all right?" she asked.

"Sam had a nightmare and got a little upset, but he's okay now," Dean assured her.

"Well, we're here to take him down for his scan. You can wait in the room. He's going to come right back up," she explained.

"Nope, not leavin' him," Dean stated. "I'll walk down with him and wait right outside of the room while he has the scan." He felt Sam's fingers tighten in his sleeve.

Karen nodded. "All right," she agreed. "Let's get this show on the road, Sam."

Dean rubbed his younger brother's chest. "This shouldn't take too long, Sammy and then you can get some rest. I'll sit right beside you and wake you up if you start to have another nightmare. I promise."

Sam blinked twice at his brother for "yes" and didn't let go of Dean's sleeve until he was wheeled into radiology for his scan.

To be continued…


	11. Chapter 11

**Here's another chapter for you to start your week with! Thanks as always to all those who review and fave :)**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

Chapter Eleven

Dean waited anxiously outside the radiology room for them to finish with Sam's scan. He didn't like to think of his brother in there all alone with the professional, detached doctors. Sammy needed him right now more than ever. The speech thing scared them both, and Dean needed Sam to look after and comfort so he could think of something else and didn't give into his own fears. He continually had to remind himself of the good things, however, like the fact that Sam was at least coherent and not a blubbering mess that was still mentally living in Hell like Cas had warned might happen if his wall broke. At least the worst hadn't happened, he knew he should be grateful for that, but still, it never failed that things wouldn't be easy for his family. Sometimes, it just made him want to scream and shoot something.

He started pacing anxiously but it wasn't too much longer before Sam was wheeled out of the room again and the nurse smiled at Dean as he made a beeline for his brother and gripped his reaching hand tightly.

"We're all done here," the nurse told the brothers. "Sam can go back to his room now and get some rest."

"What about the scans?" Dean asked her, needing to know what was up.

"The doctor will be up to discuss that with you in a little bit once he looks over the results," she assured him which didn't do much to allay Dean's anxiety. He hated waiting for potentially bad news and just wished to get it over with. But he also wanted to just be left alone with his brother too.

Sam was situated back in his room, and the nurse hooked him back up to all the tubes and machines. Dean squeezed Sam's knee gently as he saw his discomfort. Dean knew it made him feel trapped and claustrophobic—even if he couldn't have moved much anyway due to his injury. He had hated the feeling of anything tying him down after he had gotten back from his time in Hell and he figured Sam was the same. Once the nurse left, Dean rubbed Sam's shoulder gently. "Don't worry, kiddo, we'll get you out of here as soon as we can."

Sam heaved a sigh out of his nose and turned to look at Dean.

"You should get some sleep," Dean told him, pulling the blanket over Sam's shoulders and tucking it in. "Gotta rest that freakishly large head of yours."

Sam gave him a halfhearted bitchface and Dean smiled as he shook his head.

"Water?" Dean asked and picked up the cup and straw the doctor had left earlier. Sam sipped it eagerly before Dean took it away, not wanting him to drink too much too soon.

"Do you want your notepad?" Dean asked him.

Sam gave a little shrug, but extricated one of his hands from under the blankets so Dean handed him the pink pad and pen and Sam slowly wrote out three words before sheepishly turning the pad toward Dean. _Read to me?_

"Aw, does Sammy want a bedtime story?" Dean smirked, unable to help himself. Sam gave him a nonplused look that didn't need translating to words and Dean huffed a laugh, even though inside, he felt—touched, or something—that Sam wanted him to read to him like in the old days. Of course, it would be hard for him to read to himself for a while with his head, so Dean would likely be doing quite a bit of it.

Sam turned his head and closed his eyes, obviously thinking Dean wasn't going to read to him, but Dean chuckled. "Oh all right, I'll read to you, you big baby. But I did just finish this book, you know? It's not my fault you slept through it."

Sam turned back around and a small smile flitted over his lips as he watched Dean pick up the copy of _The Hobbit_ from the bedside table and flip back to the first chapter, beginning the book all over again.

As he read Sam's eyes drooped closed and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but Dean didn't stop reading until the doctor came in with the x-rays from Sam's scan. Dean put the book aside and stood up to meet him.

"Hey, Doc, so what's going on with Sam's head?" he asked without preamble, wanting to know as soon as possible. He looked to Sam hesitantly. "Should I wake him up?"

"There's no need to if he's sleeping peacefully," the doctor told Dean kindly as he set up the x-ray viewer and turned the light on for Dean's benefit. "There's no more pressure build-up which is good, the surgery worked and that means Sam has a very good chance of making a full recovery."

"But what about his speech problem?" Dean asked shortly. "Is there anything knocked loose in there that's causing it?"

"It's a common problem for coma patients," the doctor told him. "It's not usually so extreme, but with time and work he should be able to regain his ability to speak properly soon. It might even be something that will just come back gradually, but I would suggest that he see a speech therapist regularly until there is improvement."

Dean nodded, squinting at the x-ray pinned up on the wall, the picture meaning nothing to him. "So that's all we can do?"

The doctor nodded and motioned to the x-ray. "Besides that, his head looks like you would expect to. But not bad. He'll be weak and have headaches, probably some insomnia as well, for a while, but he'll recover physically, in not too much time. He hasn't showed any signs of amnesia, has he?"

"I…don't know, we were kind of distracted; nothing major, at least," Dean shrugged, that having been the farthest from his mind. In fact, unbeknownst to the doctor, he was afraid Sam would remember _too_ much upon waking. "I'll look into it."

"That's okay, I think you would have known already. As long as he remembers who he is and who you are he's doing good. It would only be natural for the accident to be a little fuzzy." He turned off the x-ray viewer and made to leave the room. "I'll be back later to check up on him again. Just keep him quiet and try not to let him get too agitated. The nurse will bring him something to eat in a little while."

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said distractedly as he watched the doctor leave. He returned to Sam's side instantly and as he sat down, he fully felt how exhausted his body was. He tried to remember the last time he had slept and realized it had been well over twenty-four hours. And in that time he had only eaten a little bit between copious amounts of coffee. He was surprised he was still on his feet. His eyes would barely stay open at the thought and he figured he was going to have to go and grab a few hours of sleep at least when Bobby got back. He just hoped Sam would be okay with that.

For now though, he simply lay his head down on the bed at Sam's shoulder and was almost instantly asleep.

He woke later to something poking him annoyingly in the top of his head and he swatted at it with a grunt, wishing it would leave him alone. He almost drifted back to sleep again before something tickled his nose and he jerked away from it and sat up, looking around to see Sam smirking tiredly and wagging the stupid pink fluffy pen Dean had bought him around teasingly.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Okay, maybe that was a bad idea."

Sam wrote something on the paper and Dean looked at it as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. _Thirsty._

Dean sighed and reached for the cup. "Okay, dude, sorry I fell asleep. I was dead on my feet." He handed the cup to Sam, but helped him guide it to his mouth, not trusting his brother's shaky hands not to dump the water everywhere. He looked at the clock as he tried not to yawn and saw that it was four in the afternoon. Bobby should be coming back soon. He was just as startled as Sam when his stomach rumbled loudly and he rubbed it gingerly, feeling the sick ache of hunger. Sam looked at him accusingly.

"What? I've been looking after you, I haven't had time to eat," Dean protested.

Sam wrote something down, his brow furrowing in concentration. He turned it to Dean determinedly. _Your an idiot._

Dean snorted a laugh. "Thanks, dude. Well, unfortunately I have to inform you that your grammar has suffered from your knock on the head."

Sam looked down at his 'your' in an almost comically horrified expression. Dean chuckled and patted his hand gently. "It's okay, Sammy, I still love you."

Sam rolled his eyes then closed them, pressing a hand to his head as a light moan escaped his throat. Dean gently raised a hand to rub his thumb soothingly against Sam's furrowed brow. "Don't strain yourself, Sammy. You'll just have to take me for my word."

Sam scribbled something out while his eyes were still closed. _Jerk._

"Bitch," Dean said affectionately, pinching his nose just to annoy him. Sam slapped his hand half-heartedly as Bobby chose that moment to walk in the door.

"Are you bothering your brother, Dean?" he demanded.

"Just taking care of him, Bobby," Dean told him with an innocent smile.

"Idjits," Bobby said affectionately. "But you look like you're dead on your feet, son, and you're not even on them. You need to go get some real sleep. I'll keep Sam company here."

Dean cast a swift glance at his brother, knowing he needed to sleep, but not wanting to leave Sam.

"No arguments," Bobby said firmly. "And eat something too."

Sam took up his pen again and slowly wrote: _Go. I'll be ok._

Dean offered him a small smile; even though he could tell Sam didn't want him to leave, he was grateful his brother was telling him it was all right. Otherwise there was no way he was leaving that hospital unless he was unconscious and dragged out—which might happen if he didn't get some sleep soon. He reached for Sam's hand and squeezed comfortingly. "I'll be back before long, Sammy. Try to sleep."

Sam nodded tiredly and Dean grabbed his jacket as Bobby took his vacated seat and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Get some rest, boy," he told him gently.

"I will," Dean told him, knowing he didn't really have any other choice. His body was going to shut down whether he wanted it to or not.

He left the hospital, but didn't go straight to the hotel. He had a couple things he needed to see to first. He had seen a grocery store across the street before and he made his way there, heading straight back to the clothing department. He needed to find Sam a hat of some sort so his head wouldn't feel so exposed without his long locks to keep it company. Dean discarded almost every option until he found plain, soft knitted ones that would cover Sam's head and ears to keep him warm; and they would be comfy enough to wear in bed. Dean picked out a grey and a black one and headed back to the front of the store to buy them.

He stopped as he was passing the toy section and something caught his eye in the dress-up section. Okay, he totally could not pass up _that_ opportunity, and grabbed one more thing before he left.

He paid for his purchases and then grabbed some fast food on the way back to the hotel, which he ate in record time, even for him, having been so hungry. Then he took a shower, feeling the hot water work some of the aches out of his muscles from sitting in that uncomfortable chair for way too long, then he barely managed to throw on a pair of sleep pants before he tumbled into bed on his stomach, the wounds on his back throbbing dully. He was too tired to care though, and just fell asleep without preamble.

It was, unfortunately, not completely restful, because dreams still plagued him.

* * *

 _Dean scrambled to stack the bricks, but no matter how many he got up they just kept falling down, crumbling to dust around him. He panted in the heat, screaming at the useless task ahead of him. Somehow, he knew this was supposed to be a representation of the wall in Sam's head, and he could see his brother lying in a coma behind him, dead to the world. He had to build the wall up in order to keep him safe, and he didn't have much more time._

 _"Dean."_

 _He looked up through the crumbling bricks to see Lucifer standing there with a smirk on his face._

 _"You stay away from him!" Dean snarled, throwing bricks on top of each other more and more frantically._

 _"It doesn't matter, Dean. I'll still get to him eventually. I already cut out his tongue!" He held up a bloody knife and the wall fell down as Dean screamed._

* * *

 _Dean woke with a gasp_ and fought against the blankets that had tangled around him as he thrashed. He choked back a sob at the need for sleep and the fact he knew he couldn't go back to sleep now, not after that nightmare. He sat up, groaning as his body protested. He looked at the clock and saw it was five-thirty in the morning. He had slept for nearly twelve hours! Sammy had to be wondering where he was by now. Why hadn't Bobby called him?

Dean looked at his phone to make sure he hadn't missed any messages, and was glad to see it was blank. At least he hadn't missed anything important. He bit back another groan and hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom, washing his face and wanting to throw up. The cool water helped to calm him, though. He wondered if he would ever be able to sleep without being plagued by nightmares.

He dressed again, and got ready to head to the hospital. It was early, but he didn't care. He needed to see Sammy. He grabbed something to eat from the continental breakfast that had already started in the lobby, not really hungry, but knowing he had to eat anyway, then he headed out.

Sam was awake and attempting to eat some oatmeal when Dean got back to the room, but he didn't seem to be enjoying it too much. Bobby coaxed him to eat another spoonful but Dean knew Sam didn't like his oatmeal plain like that; he liked it with butter and brown sugar and maybe some raisins if they had any, but he wouldn't eat it plain. He looked up with relief in his eyes as Dean came into the room and the elder Winchester smiled at his invalid brother.

"What's this, Sammy, they making you eat mush?" he asked.

"He has to get something into his stomach and you're not helping; he's being stubborn enough about it," Bobby told him with a sigh.

Dean took the bowl and tasted the mostly cold, bland oatmeal, unable to help making a face. "How do they expect anyone to get well on this crap? Do you promise to eat if I got you something better?" Dean asked his brother and Sam nodded.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Dean assured him and left the hospital again to run across the street to a fast food restaurant. He picked up a hot bowl of fruit and nut oatmeal and a chocolate milk then brought them back to Sam. The younger Winchester smiled as he saw the carton of milk and Dean handed him the oatmeal as he opened up the carton and plopped a straw into it.

"There, now you have no excuse not to eat," Dean told him. "And if you're good, I'll give you your present I got for you yesterday."

Sam looked at him suspiciously, remembering the last 'present', but he ate dutifully and actually managed to eat almost half of the oatmeal and drink most of the chocolate milk. Dean was pleased and Bobby watched them fondly, shaking his head. Dean had always been the one who knew how to manage Sammy the best whether he was seven or twenty-seven. Nothing had changed.

"Good job, Sammy," Dean told him which earned him a typical bitchface. He smirked as he turned around to grab the bag he had brought. "Now close your eyes, I want to give you your present."

Sam shared a look with Bobby, which made the old hunter chuckle before he finally heaved a sigh and did as Dean asked. Dean pulled his surprise out of the bag and shot Bobby a warning look as he saw him about ready to burst out laughing.

Dean settled the surprise on Sam's head and then grabbed his cell phone to take a picture.

"Okay, Sammy, you can open your eyes," he grinned as he snapped a picture and handed it to his brother.

Sam stared at the picture of himself wearing a cone-shaped princess hat—pink and sparkly with a bit of toole coming out the top of it and comically falling over one of Sam's eyes. Sam sent a death glare at his brother and then scribbled so furiously on his notepad his writing was hardly intelligible. _I HATE YOU_.

This only made Dean laugh. "No you don't, Sammy—or should I say, Princess Samantha." He snorted and then laughed harder at the image of Sam sitting there glaring at him with the pink princess hat on his head.

Cas chose just that moment to walk in and stopped, frowning, his head tilted slightly as he took in the picture in front of him. Sam covered his face with a hand as Dean only laughed harder.

"Sam, I'm glad to see you awake, but…why are you wearing a pink cone on your head?"

"It's a princess hat, Cas," Dean told him, before Sam finally took the hat off and shoved it with more energy than Dean expected into his gut, pointy end first, making him grunt.

"I don't understand," Cas frowned deeper. "I thought those were for little girls?"

"That's the point, Cas, it's a joke," Dean told him as he set the hat on the side table.

"Oh, I see," the angel said with a smile.

"I'm so saving this for you to wear when the hot nurse comes to give you a sponge bath," Dean told his brother. Sam wrote something short, which he then scribbled out so no one else would see it, making Dean laugh harder.

"Okay, grumpy pants," Dean told him.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Castiel asked him as he watched Sam write on the pad.

"Sam can't talk at the moment," Dean told him quietly. "It's a side effect of the coma." But a shiver ran down his spine as he remembered his dream from the night before. "Hey, Cas, can I talk to you outside?"

"Of course, Dean," the angel followed him curiously and Dean closed the door behind them, feeling Sam's eyes on his back.

"What is it? Something is troubling you," the angel commented. "Is Sam alright?"

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, I mean, apart from not being able to speak. The docs say it's a normal thing after the kind of injury he had, but…I don't know, Cas, you don't think it's something else, do you?"

The angel thought a moment then shook his head. "I don't think it would be a side-effect of his wall falling, if that's what you mean. He would be a lot worse off if that were to occur—likely having seizures and being in a mostly vegetative state between bouts of epileptic fits and uncontrollable distress…"

"Okay, Cas, thanks for the Web MD," Dean said quickly, wanting to get those images out of his head. He had enough nightmares as it was.

"Sorry," the angel apologized. "I can look at him if you want."

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay. There's nothing you can do for this, is there?"

"I don't think so, Dean," Cas apologized with a sigh. "I'm sorry I've been so unhelpful."

"It's alright, I'm just…worried, is all."

"I know. But at least he is awake and doesn't seem to be reliving Hell, which is a good thing."

"Yeah, definitely." Dean forced a small smile as they re-entered the room and Cas went over to Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I'm going to take a look inside your head, Sam, if that's alright?" he asked quietly and Sam nodded. "Just close your eyes." Cas placed his hand on Sam's forehead, for a few long moments before he pulled back and stood up. "Nothing seems to be out of place, though I wish I could help you with your speech." Sam patted his arm gently and offered a small smile, which Cas returned.

"I'm afraid I must leave again," Cas told them tiredly. "I have many things to see to. I wish I could stay longer. I will see you again soon. I wish you a swift recovery, Sam." Then he was gone.

"What is he even up to these days?" Bobby asked Dean.

"I don't know," Dean said, shrugging that off. He didn't need another thing to worry about right now. He turned back to the bag he had brought. "Anyway, Sam, I really did get you some hats you might like better." He smiled as he pulled the other ones out for his brother to see. "How are these? A little dorky, I know, but they'll keep your head warm until your hair grows back."

Sam offered a small smile as Dean cut the tags off the grey one and slipped it over his brother's head, tucking it snuggly over the tops of his ears. Sam took up his pen again and wrote, _Thanks Dean_.

"You're welcome, kiddo," Dean cupped the side of his face gently. "Now we just have to get you through this." _Get both of us through this_ was what he was really thinking, but he wasn't going to worry about himself right now. He knew he would be well as soon as Sam was. He just wished there was more he could do.


	12. Chapter 12

**We're back! Hope everyone had a good weekend. I cannot believe Supernatural Season 11 starts this week! AHH! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Twelve

Bobby took night duty with Sam once again so that Dean could go to the motel and get a good night's sleep. He woke feeling somewhat more rested although worry for his brother kept him from feeling relaxed. He took a hot shower and then stopped to get breakfast for himself, Bobby, and Sam before heading back to the hospital.

When he got there he quickly headed inside, eager to see how Sam was feeling. Dean knew that there was really nothing more the hospital could do for his brother, and he intended to see that Sam was released as soon as possible.

A frown curved his lips as he spotted Bobby lounging in the hallway nursing a cup of coffee. "Bobby?" he queried, his tone tinged with worry. "What's wrong with Sam?"

"He's fine," Bobby soothed. "He's having his first session with the speech pathologist. She asked me to give them some privacy."

"How long has she been in there?" Dean asked anxiously. "Did Sam want you to leave?"

"Sam was fine with it, Dean. You know I wouldn't have left him if he was upset." Bobby glanced down at his watch. "It's been about thirty minutes."

Dean nodded. "I want to meet the speech pathologist," he muttered and then pushed open the door after knocking gently. "Hey, Sammy," he greeted his brother, his nerves immediately on edge as he recognized the expression of frustration and anger on his brother's face.

The speech pathologist, a woman in her mid-forties with red hair and bright blue eyes, gave him a slight nod. "We're just about done here," she smiled. "Give us about ten more minutes."

Dean glanced at Sam once again, saw his distress, and made a quick decision. "Actually, I'm Sam's brother, Dean Winchester." He stepped forward and offered the woman his hand. "I wanted to meet you."

She shook his hand. "Melinda Barrett, one of the hospital's speech pathologists."

Dean moved to his brother's bedside and placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "You okay, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam shook his head and snatched up his pen, writing furiously on his pink notepad.

"Mr. Winchester, please," Melinda interjected, "I am on a very tight schedule and I need to finish up with your brother."

"Can't you see he's upset?" Dean fired back impatiently. "Shouldn't you find out what's wrong?"

"Many of my patients and clients get frustrated and upset in the beginning," she explained gently. "Sam is having a normal reaction to the situation."

"It may be a normal reaction to the situation, but that doesn't mean you ignore it," Dean snapped as Sam handed him the notepad.

"I want to get out of this hospital NOW!" Dean read. He glanced up at his brother's face and gave him a quick nod before turning back to the speech therapist. "How many sessions do you think Sam will need?" he asked.

"It varies from person to person," she sighed as she accepted that Dean was not going to allow her to finish her session with his brother. "It can depend on the nature of the brain injury."

Dean handed the notepad back to his brother and sat down in an empty chair. "Once Sam goes home, are there things I can do to help him speak again?"

Sam scowled at his brother, but Dean ignored the look and waited for the therapist's answer.

"Well, I can certainly go over some things you can work on at home before he is discharged," Melinda explained.

Dean nodded. "Well, I have time for you to go over them now. I'm going to speak with Sam's doctors about having him discharged."

"I'm not sure he's ready for that," Melinda argued even as Sam's expression brightened hopefully.

"What else can be done for him here? His brain scan showed nothing they wouldn't expect to see. He's fine except for his speech. That's no reason to stay in a hospital. He can just attend sessions as an outpatient." Dean leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as if waiting for the speech pathologist to argue back with him.

Instead, Melinda glanced at her watch and stood. "Well, Sam, best of luck to you. I have to see my next patient, but I will bring back a list of things you can work on at home."

Sam nodded and his shoulders dropped in relief when she finally left the room.

"Rough session, Sammy?" Dean queried as he squeezed his younger brother's shoulder.

Sam nodded and played absently with the puffball on the end of the pen resting in his lap.

Bobby entered the room and frowned when he noticed the dejected look on Sam's face. "Uh oh, what happened?" he asked Dean.

"What did happen, Sam?" the older Winchester asked quietly as he tapped the notepad that rested beside Sam's leg on the mattress.

With a sigh, Sam lifted it and after thinking a moment, began to write.

Dean turned to Bobby while he waited for his brother to finish. "I'm going to see if I can get Sam out of here. It's not like they can do anything else for him, and he doesn't need to be in a hospital to work with a speech pathologist."

Bobby nodded in agreement. "You two boys are welcome to stay with me as long as you want. I could use Sam's help with some research."

Sam poked his brother with the pen to get his attention and then handed him the notepad.

Dean read it out loud so that Bobby could be in on the conversation, too.

"I just need to get out of the hospital. I will be okay, Dean. I promise. I was just frustrated. My brain wasn't cooperating with my mouth."

Dean looked up at his brother and swatted the younger man's leg with the notepad. "I know you will, Sammy," Dean encouraged him although he worried what would happen if Sam never regained his speech. "That melon of yours will be communicating just find with your big mouth before you know it."

"D'n!" Sam managed to get out in an aggravated tone.

Bobby shook his head and chuckled. "I'm going to get some sleep. Dean, call me when you find out when we can bust Sam outta here."

"I will, Bobby," Dean replied as he took the chair vacated by the older hunter.

"See you later, Sam. Get some rest," Bobby informed Sam as the younger man waved back at him.

Dean waited until Bobby left to question his brother once again. "Sure it was just frustration?" he asked a bit uncomfortably. It was usually Sam that tried to start a conversation involving feelings. This was out of Dean's comfort zone.

Sam squirmed, knowing how well his brother was able to read him. Avoiding Dean's gaze, he grabbed his pen and the notepad and began to write once more. "I was just frustrated with myself. This should be so easy. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Dean snorted as he read what Sam wrote. He always worried about his younger brother whether Sam wanted him to be or not. "We'll figure this out together, Sam," he promised. "I'm going to see if I can find out when your doctor is making rounds. Gonna get you sprung!" he promised with a grin.

Sam managed a smile and then closed his eyes once his brother left the room. After today's disastrous speech therapy session, he was sure he would never talk again. How was he going to hunt and watch his brother's back if he couldn't shout out a warning to Dean? Sam sighed in frustration and rolled the edge of the blanket with nervous fingers. He'd barely been able to make any of the sounds the therapist had asked him to create. The only thing he could say with any degree of certainty was the garbled version of his brother's name. Despair coiled its snares into him and pulled his spirits down low.

Dean couldn't believe his luck when he literally ran into Sam's doctor as he turned the corner at the end of the hallway.

The doctor smiled. "Good morning, Mr. Winchester. How is Sam doing this morning?"

Dean grinned. "He's doing great except for the speech thing," he admitted. "When can we get him out of here? Sam's ready to go home."

The doctor scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Well, maybe a few more days…" he trailed off.

Dean bit back a sigh. "There's nothing more you can do for him. The speech thing is going to take time to resolve itself according to the therapist, and he can have those sessions as an outpatient. I will sign him out AMA if I have to."

The doctor sighed. "I'll give him a thorough exam when I get to him on my rounds. If I don't find anything worrisome, I'll release him."

Dean grinned. "Thanks, Doc! I'm going to tell Sam the good news."

When Dean returned to the room, he found Sam sleeping fitfully. The younger's Winchester's face was contorted in the midst of a nightmare. A muffled moan escaped his lips and his hands curled in the blanket.

"Sam," Dean murmured softly as he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Sam refused to wake up; he merely thrashed harder beneath his brother's grasp.

"Sammy," Dean called louder, this time giving the younger hunter a firm shake.

Sam's eyes flew open and he jolted to a sitting position, his hands immediately rising to cradle his pounding head.

"Easy," Dean soothed quietly. "You're all right, Sammy. It was just a dream."

Sam's labored breathing soon evened out, but Dean had yet to remove his hand from his little brother's shoulder. His presence was a reassuring comfort to the injured hunter. "D'n," he managed. "H-h," he managed.

Dean studied his brother's face for a moment. "Head hurts?" he asked gently.

Sam blinked twice for yes.

"Good job with your sounds, Sam," Dean encouraged. He rubbed Sam's neck gently and could feel when his brother began to relax. "You'll be working my nerves rattling off your geek boy facts before you know it."

Sam blew out his breath in a huff and Dean chuckled.

"I ran into the doc, Sam," Dean informed him as he returned to his seat. "He said if you check out okay on his rounds this morning he'll spring you outta here."

Sam offered a small smile as his stomach rolled, the presence of his nightmare still strong in his mind. Once again, Dean was nearly attacked and Sam was unable to warn him. With fumbling fingers, Sam reached for the notepad and wrote in somewhat shaky handwriting, "What if I'm not able to hunt with you again?"

Dean read it and immediately worked to put his brother at ease. "What? Don't even think that, Sam. Your brain just has to heal and you will be fine. It might take a little bit, but you'll get there. While you're recuperating, we'll stay at Bobby's and help him with research."

Sam wrote furiously on his notepad before handing a piece of paper to his brother. "You hate research."

Dean smirked. "Maybe I can help Bobby out with some hunting while you do the research."

Sam frowned. "But I can't have your back," he wrote, underlining each word and adding exclamation points.

Dean read his brother's words and sighed. "I don't want to hunt without you, Sam. We'll figure this out, all right?"

Sam nodded, but the unhappy look stayed on his face.

"Good morning, Sam," the doctor announced as he entered the room. "Your brother thinks you are well enough to go home, so let's see if I agree with him."

Sam scribbled a few words on his notepad and then ripped the sheet of paper off and handed it to the doctor. "I am more than ready to go," the note read. "I can work on my speech as an outpatient."

The doctor nodded. "We can easily get you set up for speech services, but I want to make sure you are physically ready to leave the hospital. I don't want to send you home too soon." He turned to Dean. "Now, if you would step out-"

Sam reached out and tugged on Dean's arm frantically.

"No, I'm staying. Sam wants me to stay," Dean pointed out. He looked down at his brother. "I'm not going anywhere, dude. I'll just step over to the side out of the doctor's way."

Sam studied Dean's face for a moment before deciding that was okay. He blinked twice for yes.

The doctor did a quick but thorough exam. He checked Sam's reflexes and his eyes before making the youngest Winchester walk around the room. Finally, he made some notes on Sam's chart and smiled at the brothers. "Well, Sam, I believe Dean is right. You are ready to go home. I'll get speech services set up for you after you fill out some paperwork. I'll also have the nurse get your discharge paperwork together."

Dean moved to his brother's bedside and clapped a warm hand on Sam's shoulder. "Good job, buddy. You're going home."

Sam smiled faintly up at his brother, unable to help feeling nervous about the speech problems he was still having.

Dean glanced at his watch. "I'll let Bobby sleep a bit longer and we'll give him a call before we leave the hospital. We can be at his house by tonight."

The thought of being in Bobby's familiar house in the room he had shared with Dean every time they visited Bobby since they were boys made Sam's lips curve into a real smile. He tried to make his mouth form the words he wanted to say, but it refused to cooperate. Instead, he sighed and curled up in his blankets. The doctor's exam had exhausted him. Maybe he'd take a little nap until the nurse arrived with his discharge papers. Dean could take care of the other paperwork. Sam was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

To be continued…


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi everyone, back with another chapter! Did everyone see the S11 premier last week? By the way, thanks to all the guest reviewers since I can't pm you :)**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

Chapter Thirteen

Dean woke Sam up after he had signed the release papers and then helped him to get dressed in some clean clothes Bobby had brought for him. For the most part, Sam was able to get around, but he was still a little wobbly on his feet, and got dizzy really easily, not to mention he was still gaining his strength back from his time in the coma when he hadn't eaten anything solid. Just the act of getting dressed tired him out so much he wanted to sleep again, and Dean sat next to him on the bed and kept a steadying arm around his shoulders so he wouldn't fall on his face.

"Don't worry, kiddo, you can lay down in the back of Bobby's car and sleep all the way back to his place."

Sam nodded slightly, but rubbed his head with a shaky hand, another headache coming on. The doctor said he would get a lot of them for a while. Not that he hadn't had a concussion before, but this was at a whole new level. Dean silently brought his hand up to massage the back of his neck and Sam practically fell asleep against his shoulder at the soothing movement. Dean smirked a little and pulled Sam's hat over his eyes.

"Hey there, don't get too comfy, we're leaving just as soon as Bobby gets here."

As if on cue, the older hunter walked into the room and offered the brothers a smile.

"Well, Sam, you ready to get out of here?" he asked.

Sam nodded as vigorously as possible and allowed Dean to help him up. The nurse came in with a wheelchair to wheel him out and Sam huffed in annoyance, but secretly knew he couldn't make it the whole way himself even if he wanted to.

He was really glad to see Bobby's car parked outside the hospital waiting for him, though and gladly slipped into the backseat. He wished vaguely that it was the Impala, though would never admit to his brother that he was just as attached to her as Dean was.

Dean got him situated, rolling up his own coat for Sam to use as a pillow. The younger Winchester folded his long limbs up and lay down, closing his eyes. Dean patted his knee.

"You good, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and Dean climbed in the front with Bobby as the older hunter started the car.

Sam was out almost before they pulled out of the parking lot and didn't wake up until they pulled into Bobby's place, and Dean nudged him awake.

"Come on, Sam, you gotta get up, you're too big for me to carry inside."

Sam huffed, but pulled himself slowly into a sitting position and gabbed Dean's proffered hands to ease himself out of the car. Dizziness overcame him and he stumbled against Dean as the elder Winchester caught him and waited for the world to stop spinning before he started Sam on his way to Bobby's house.

"You good?" he asked.

Sam nodded and pushed slightly away from his brother, gripping his shoulder to steady himself, but attempting to walk there by of his own power for the most part. The stairs gave him a little trouble, but he got there all the same and almost cried to see the familiar interior and smell that scent of old books, gunpowder and whisky that he remembered from his childhood.

"Easy there, Sammy," Dean told him gently as his brother sagged slightly. "Let's just get you to the couch. It's almost time for dinner anyway. After that I'll help you get cleaned up and into bed."

Sam didn't protest and allowed Dean to help him stagger the last few yards to the couch which he sank into, breathing a bit heavily.

Bobby came in with their bags. "You good, Sam?" he asked.

Sam nodded and Dean squeezed his shoulder before he went to help Bobby. "He'll be fine. You're going to get better faster here than at the hospital with all those doctors poking at you, Sammy," Dean told his brother. "How about I get you something to drink?"

He went into the kitchen with Bobby and got a glass from the cupboard, catching the older man's slightly worried gaze out of the corner of his eye. He put the cup down on the counter and turned around. "What?"

"He doesn't look great, Dean, you sure it was a good idea to spring him so soon?"

"He's been in a coma, Bobby, of course he's not exactly on his game right now," Dean frowned. "And I know if we had left him in the hospital for much longer he would have gone insane. Here at least he can relax in quiet and we can still help him with his speech issues. Besides, Cas didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with him."

"And he's a doctor all of a sudden?" Bobby grunted.

Dean scowled. "No, but he can tell when people are sick or injured. Sammy will be fine, Bobby. Besides, if anything really bad happens, we'll just take him back to the hospital."

Bobby didn't say anything, just turned to the fridge. "Just keep an eye on him, Dean. He should be out of danger now, but if he stresses his melon too much, it could cause more trouble than it's worth."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said shortly. "Trust me. That's why I didn't want that therapist poking at him too much. I know we have to get him to do the work if he wants to talk again, but I think there's easier ways to do it than to push him past his limits."

"You know him best, Dean, you do what you think is right, but don't hesitate to come to me if you feel something is wrong, okay?"

Dean offered a small smile. "I won't. Thanks." He got the water and brought it back to Sam who looked up woozily as if he was trying not to fall asleep.

"Drink up, you need to keep hydrated," Dean informed him and Sam took the glass and gulped half of it thirstily, putting Dean a little at ease. He reached for the TV remote and handed it to Sam.

"Want to watch something? You can watch anything you want to and I won't even complain. But nothing educational, don't want to strain your brain too much, right?"

Sam gave him a hearty bitchface and settled back on the couch, turning the TV on and flipping channels idly.

"I'd get you some books to read, but the doc said not to strain your eyes too much. I can read to you like old times though."

Sam smiled slightly at that and nodded. Dean smiled back, at least Sammy was okay with him doing that. He was afraid he would get frustrated with being so limited. But then, he might still be working on the 'good' pain medicine the doctor had given him. Knowing his brother, he knew it probably wouldn't last long.

"I'm makin' stew for dinner, you boys good with that?" Bobby called.

"Sure, Bobby!" Dean called back, knowing it didn't matter whether they were or not. He patted Sam's long legs and shoved them aside so he could sit down. Sam gave a soft sound of annoyance, but pulled his knees up to give Dean room. Dean glanced over at his brother, watching his pale, gaunt face as the ghostly light of the television flitted over it while he watched some talk show. His eyes drooped and Dean was worried about how much he slept, wondering if that was a good thing or not. He should probably work on thinking of ideas to get Sam's brain engaged again, but wouldn't put too much strain on him. Maybe some Sudoku or something.

He dozed off himself after a few minutes, still exhausted from the lack of sleep he'd gotten in the past week but was woken by a jolt to his hip, and a familiar whimper. He started awake and looked over at Sam, his body curled defensively into a ball and his face buried into a pillow. He kicked Dean again and a small almost noiseless cry escaped his throat. Dean got off the couch and crouched in front of his brother, gently taking his shoulders and giving him a shake.

"Sammy, hey, wake up, dude. It's just a nightmare."

Sam blinked his eyes open with a start, hand launching out to grab Dean's shirt as the other reached up with a wince to his head.

"D-D'n?" he whispered.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, rubbing his shoulder. He was worried though. Sam didn't seem to be able to sleep at all without having a nightmare. Even when he fell asleep for only a few minutes, it seemed plagued with visions of horror. He wouldn't say what they were, but Dean knew well enough. He was probably going to continue to have nightmares himself until Sam was back to normal. But then, did he ever really stop having nightmares? Not really. Kind of came with the job.

Bobby peeked in and Dean looked over his shoulder at the older hunter as they shared a look. "You two ready for dinner?"

Later that night, Dean helped Sam get up the stairs, knowing it would be more comfortable for him to sleep in a real bed and not just the one in Bobby's study that was too short for him. Besides, he needed to get cleaned up and the shower was upstairs.

Dean hadn't been sure if Sam could stand for long enough to take a shower, so he set up a plastic chair for him to sit down in and helped him wash up. Sam had protested, wanting to be independent, but Dean wasn't having it, and Sam knew he was still too shaky and unsteady to wash himself really well anyway.

"Besides, I did this all the time when you were a kid," Dean quipped, which caused Sam to throw a washcloth at him, getting him wet.

The part that bothered Dean was having to clean the surgical wound on Sam's head. It gave him the creeps just looking at it, like Sam was a lobotomy patient or something. But it needed to be kept clean, and it wasn't like they hadn't had worse before. Still, Dean was glad when he taped new gauze over it and tucked the hat back on, once he had gotten Sam dry.

"You got a little peach fuzz up here," He told his brother with a grin, rubbing his head gently, before Sam swatted at him. "Before long you'll have your long locks back, Fabio."

Sam didn't even bother replying, just rolled his eyes as Dean got him down the hall and into the bedroom they would share. He put Sam in the bed against the wall even though it was farther away—just a habit—and tucked him in like he hadn't done for years, even though Sam swatted at him and grunted in protest.

"Calm down, little bro," Dean told him firmly. "Just let me take care of you, jeez."

Sam put his lips in a thin line but didn't protest any more for the moment. He knew well enough that Dean needed to make sure he was okay and taken care of himself, because there was nothing else that was going to appease his older brother. He then set a glass of water and the notebook and pen on Sam's bedside table. The pink paper looked laughably out of place in Bobby's rustic house and it made Dean smirk.

"Okay, so you good?" Dean asked him.

Sam reached out and squeezed Dean's arm for a second to tell him to stay then grabbed the paper and wrote: _Don't want to sleep yet. Can you read?_

"Bedtime stories, Sammy, really?" Dean teased, but sighed, went to a bookshelf on the side of the room and picked up several books, sorting through them. "How about _Huckleberry Finn_? It's been a long time since you read that one."

Sam smiled and Dean went over to him, frowning as he looked at Sam's bed and shaking his head mockingly. "Okay, so I know you used to sit in my lap when we read, but isn't that a little awkward? I mean, we're kinda too big."

Sam rolled his eyes and motioned to the foot of his bed and Dean huffed a sigh and sat at Sam's feet, resting his back against the wall. "Okay, but we're not cuddling—ow!" he cried out as Sam kicked him and gave him a look that said plainly _Just read._

So Dean read, and watched as Sam's eyes grew heavier, miming a familiar action from when they were kids. The thought brought a lump to Dean's throat but he swallowed it down and finished the chapter he was reading, seeing Sam breathing easily and fully asleep by the time he was done.

He got up as gently as possible and set the book on the nightstand. He looked down at his little brother, so glad to have him back to normal, even if he couldn't speak, and pulled the blankets further up his shoulders then turned off the light and went to get ready for bed himself, hoping the nightmares might stay away for one night at least so he could get some decent sleep.

* * *

 _Sam woke groggily the next morning_ and it took him a moment to realize where he was. The surroundings were familiar, but he couldn't quite place them. His head ached dully and he winced as he pushed himself up, closing his eyes as the room spun. Must have a concussion.

And then he remembered the accident and being in the hospital, but he wasn't anymore, Dean and Bobby had brought him back to the old hunter's place and Sam was instantly relieved at that. He rubbed his head, tugging the hat down further, not wanting to touch the shaved swatch of skin, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

No one else was in the room, but the other bed was unmade and he was sure Dean was up. A glance at the clock read 9am, so he must have slept all night. And he couldn't even remember any nightmares. That was an improvement.

He realized suddenly that he really had to pee and was suddenly frustrated that Dean was gone. He wasn't sure he could make it all the way down the hall himself, but he would try, because, well, when you gotta go…

He eased himself onto his feet, dizzy, but was able to steady himself before he fell. Confident, he took several steps and made it to Dean's bed before he had to use that to steady himself. Then he made it to the door and kept his hand on the wall the rest of the way to the bathroom. It was slow going, but he managed to get there and shut the door.

He finished up and was washing his hands when a wave of dizziness washed over him and he scrambled to stay upright as the room spun. He hadn't been vertical for so long in days without Dean or Bobby to keep him steady and he thought he might have overdone it a little bit. He grabbed frantically for the towel bar but missed and grabbed the towel instead which slipped off the bar and caused him to sprawl on the floor about as gracefully as a newborn giraffe.

A short grunt came from his throat as he just breathed, taking stock of himself, but he didn't seem to be hurt. He couldn't seem to get up again either. He tried reaching for the doorknob, but his hands were too clumsy to open it.

"D-D'n," he said, but he didn't seem to be able to speak very loudly. It was hard enough just forming the word. He groaned in annoyance and slapped his hand against the door instead. He kept it up until he was exhausted and curled up on the floor, panting hard and wishing Dean or Bobby would hear him.

He heard voices downstairs and decided to bang on the door again, mustering more strength. Finally, as he was nearing frustrated tears, he heard footsteps on the stairs and banged again.

"Sammy?" Dean sounded farther away, and he banged again, then heard footsteps running down the hall. "Sam!"

Sam slapped the door again, then scooted back as Dean opened it, nearly hitting him. He was on his knees at Sam's side in an instant, his hands on either side of his brother's face.

"Sammy, are you alright? What happened? Did you fall?"

Sam grabbed his wrist and squeezed to get him to stop talking. He leveled himself upright and Dean helped him, letting him rest back against the wall.

"You good?" he asked again, looking Sam over for new bruises or injuries.

"D'n," Sam said shortly and nodded, then grabbed Dean's hand and traced letters onto his palm. _I'm good. Got dizzy._

"You shouldn't really be up by yourself. You should have called…" Dean realized what he had said before he registered Sam's bitchface, and sighed. "Right, right. We'll figure something out. I didn't think about that. Come on, then, let's get you up; time for some breakfast."

Sam leaned heavily on Dean as the elder brother escorted him down the stairs and put him on the couch, deciding Sam was too wobbly to sit at the kitchen table. Sam didn't necessarily think so, but he couldn't really protest either, he thought bitterly. If Dean kept this up, he was going to be obligated to hit him over the head with the nearest blunt object.

He was given bacon and eggs and some toast with a no-nonsense lecture from Dean that he needed his protein. Sam ate dutifully. Nothing really tasted normal, but the doctors had said that was a common side effect and would wear off eventually. Besides, he was at least hungry again and could eat without feeling queasy as long as he didn't go too crazy.

After he finished, Dean gave him the remote to the TV again and he flipped to a historical documentary before Dean took it away and flipped it to something else.

"No way, dude, I am not letting you watch educational television, it will ruin your brain." Sam caught Bobby's eyeroll from across the room and nearly smirked.

"Hey Bobby," Dean called. "You got a bell or something for Sam so he can ring it if he needs something when we're in another room?"

"Sure, I'll find something," Bobby assured him.

The rest of the day, Dean fussed over Sam until the younger Winchester was about ready to lob one of Bobby's heavy books at him. If this kept up, he was going to go insane, he was sure of it. And the worst part was that he couldn't even protest unless he wanted to write it out and that took some of the heat out of his replies. He knew Dean was worried, especially since Sam had only just gotten his soul back and had already had one fainting episode before this whole mess, but he would be able to recover a lot better if he didn't have Dean hovering over his every move. He was almost tempted to text Cas and ask him to make something up if he had to to get Dean out of the way for a couple days; but he wasn't sure if the angel would understand the subtlety of the situation and would blow his cover.

But that evening, Bobby presented him with a gift after he had made a supply run into town. Dean was in the shower and Sam was sitting on his bed, trying to read, but not succeeding because it made his head ache too much.

"Don't let Dean see this yet," he told the younger boy. "But I thought you might like something to get back at him." And he put an airhorn into Sam's lap.

Sam grinned and squeezed Bobby's hand in thanks, tucking the airhorn under his pillow. Dean had given him a bell earlier, but this was way better.

The next morning, when Sam woke up and needed to use the bathroom, he cast one glance over at the lump of sleeping brother in the next bed and blew the airhorn. He managed so much of his weird, silent laughter when Dean fell out of the bed in a scrambling heap of blankets and weapons that he gave himself a headache, but it was totally worth it.

To be continued...

* * *

 **Hope you all are still enjoying this one! By the way, I'm going to start posting a new multi-chapter story soon, AU to season 4 episode "On the Head of a Pin" Hopefully it will be up next week, so keep an eye out!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey everyone! Again, thanks for all the reviews, hope you continue to enjoy this story :)**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Fourteen

Dean had cursed angrily over the whole air horn debacle, but once he'd seen the grin on his brother's face he had immediately decided to forgive Bobby. It took quite a bit to make Sam smile these days.

The younger Winchester was beginning to regain his strength. Sam was able to walk from room to room by himself, but still needed help with the stairs. His head continued to ache, however, and his speech had not really improved. He'd only had one session with a therapist since leaving the hospital. His next session would be tomorrow. Sam dreaded it.

Sleep was still an issue for him as well. Except for the first night at Bobby's when he had slept well, his rest had been plagued with nightmares. Sometimes they were about the accident and Dean was thrown through the windshield of the Impala to die a painful, bloody death. At other times, he dreamed of hell-the burning fire and frigid cold. Exhaustion tugged at him most of the time these days as did depression and anxiety.

Sam fretted constantly about the future and "what ifs" swirled around his brain. What if he could never talk again? What if he could never hunt with Dean? What if the wall collapsed and he went crazy? What if he didn't have his brother's back and something killed Dean? Sam sometimes felt as if he wanted to jump out of his own skin. He wished his brain had an off switch just so he could have some relief from the constant repetitive thoughts that refused to leave him alone. He found himself pacing Bobby's small study and chewing obsessively at his fingernails.

The anxiety led to depression. It was hard to think of a time in the future when things would be better. Instead, it seemed he would always be trapped in a voiceless body, always afraid that the wall protecting him from memories would come crashing down and the sheer horror of what he had done would drive him insane. Was there any hope that things would ever be better? Sam was beginning to doubt that there was.

Dean was constantly fussing at Sam to get his fingers out of his mouth and to sit still. He knew his little brother well enough to tell that something was eating at him. It was hard to have a discussion right now when Sam had to take the time to write everything out. The princess notepad had run out of pages, so Bobby had picked up a small whiteboard and dry erase markers when he'd made a grocery run.

Dean leaned over the Impala's engine, satisfied that his baby was going to purr like a kitten now that he and Bobby had repaired the damage from the accident. He gazed across the yard where his younger brother sat aimlessly on Bobby's porch with a book propped open in his lap. Dean knew Sam's head was bothering him. He watched as his brother pinched the bridge of his nose and winced.

With a heavy sigh, Dean wiped his hands on a rag to rid them of grease, put his tools away, and closed Baby's hood. Sam didn't need to be concentrating so hard on those books. He was getting around better, so there was no reason he couldn't leave the house as long as he took it easy. A grin quirked Dean's lips up at the corners; it was time to get his geek boy brother to have some fun.

Dean reached the porch and dropped down onto the top step. "Don't overdo it, Sammy," he cautioned as he ran a hand over his sweaty hair.

Sam grunted at him and tossed a sour look his way.

"Come on, Sam, let's go somewhere," Dean encouraged.

"N-," Sam mouthed at his brother as he tried to pronounce the word "no," purposely refraining from shaking his head. It still ached from the accident and his surgery.

"Sam, you can't stay holed up here forever. I need to pick up some things for Bobby at the auto parts store. We can go to the bookstore in town. Maybe you can get something new to read."

Sam sighed heavily. The idea of the bookstore was very tempting and he was tired of sitting in Bobby's house day after day.

He jumped when Dean poked him in the arm. Sam hadn't even realized that his brother had moved from his place on the steps.

"Come on, dude. You need to move around a bit. Maybe it will help that egg head of yours finish healing," Dean prodded.

Sam sighed once again, but pushed himself slowly to his feet and waited to make sure he had his balance before moving. He knew Dean would make his life miserable until he agreed to go. Sam took his time washing up and looked into the mirror to adjust his hat before following Dean out to the car. He had to admit that the Impala looked good. Her black paint shone brightly in the mid-day sun.

Dean ran his hand reverently over her smooth finish. "Lookin' good, Baby," he murmured. "Don't worry. Pretty soon me, you, and Sammy will be back on the open road again."

Sam's stomach clenched at his brother's words. Dean couldn't know that for certain. There was no way Sam could have Dean's back when hunting if he couldn't speak. His mood sunk lower as the "what if" questions worked their way to the forefront of his mind. Sam had been hoping this trip would allow him to break away from his anxiety even for just a little bit, but he couldn't seem to escape his thoughts. The idea depressed him even further.

Dean turned on the radio and rolled down his window, singing along happy as he steered the Impala down the two lane road towards town. He kept glancing toward his brother in the passenger seat, hoping that Sam would allow himself to relax. Instead, Sam's shoulders tensed and his body language suggested that he was very uncomfortable.

Dean frowned. "Is your head bothering you?" he asked after turning the music down slightly.

Sam shook his head slightly to indicate that it wasn't.

"Then what is it, dude?" Dean asked with frustration.

Sam just turned his head and stared out of the passenger window without answering.

Dean parked in front of the auto parts store. "Want to come in with me? It shouldn't take long."

Sam again gave a barely perceptible shake of his head.

"Fine," Dean ground out through clenched teeth as he shut the Impala's door and headed inside to get the parts on Bobby's list.

Sam shifted in the Impala's front seat as his brain went round and round. He tried saying several simple words now that he was alone in the car, but other than beginning sounds, and sometimes not even that, he didn't have much success. Frustration bubbled up inside of him, and he flung open the door of the car and stepped out into the bright sunshine.

When Dean exited the store a while later, he found Sam lounging against the front of the Impala and bit back a pleased grin. "Sorry it took so long. Guy couldn't find one of the parts."

Sam merely grunted in response.

"The book store is just across the street. Let's walk," Dean encouraged. He started walking slowly toward the corner to cross the street and glanced back to see if his brother was following him. Thankfully, he was.

Dean slowed down to accommodate Sam. A ding from his cell phone made him pull it out of his pocket to check for a text. He glanced both ways before stepping out into the street and then looked down at his phone again. He didn't see the car that was coming up the side street. The driver turned the corner without really paying attention just as Dean stepped off of the curb.

"D-!" Sam choked out, already running forward and ignoring the pounding in his head. He broke off as the bumper of the car tapped Dean's leg and his brother fell to the ground. Panic thrummed through Sam and he could barely breathe. Dean was lying unmoving on the ground. "D'n!"

Dean must have had the breath knocked out of him because he stirred and slowly sat up. He was rubbing his leg when Sam reached his side and dropped to his knees on the ground next to him. "I'm okay, Sammy," he promised. "Just bruised and sore."

The driver, a frazzled red-head with her cell phone in her hand was sobbing by the time she reached Dean. Mascara made black tracks down both cheeks and her hair was mussed like she had run her hands through it in frustration. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. I turned around to yell at my kids. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Dean assured her as a crowd of people began to gather around.

Sam's breath came faster and his heart pounded. His brother could have been killed and Sam could have watched it unfold right before his eyes. He felt useless and broken and the thought of losing Dean all because a woman was distracted and fussing at her children made his stomach churn. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he trembled all over; his brother could have died because Sam couldn't have his back. "D'n," he managed through chattering teeth. Black spots swam before his eyes as someone, maybe the red-head woman, helped Dean to his feet. The world spun dizzily around him and Sam gulped as a wave of nausea rolled through his stomach. His head throbbed painfully at his incision site.

"Sir, are you all right?" the man standing next to him asked as he put a gentle hand on Sam's arm.

Sam flinched at the touch.

Dean's attention was drawn to his brother. "Sammy, what is it? What's wrong?"

The younger Winchester's heart fluttered in his chest and he was finding it harder to breathe.

"Sammy?" Dean asked again as he hobbled toward his brother. He watched in horror as Sam collapsed in a crumpled heap to the ground, the man beside him catching him just before his cap-covered head hit the pavement. "SAM!"

Dean shrugged off the hands on his arm and dropped to his brother's side with a gasp of pain as his wounded leg protested the movement.

"Is he all right?" someone asked. "Should I call for an ambulance?"

Dean's first instinct was to say yes, but he bit his lip and rubbed a gentle hand over Sam's cheek. "Sam, come on, buddy. Open your eyes for me."

A moan escaped his younger brother's lips and then Sam's face screwed up as if he was in pain. His arms flailed out toward his brother and Dean grabbed at Sam's hands, capturing them in his own.

"It's okay, Sam. You're all right," Dean soothed.

"N-NO!" Sam managed to form the word very clearly. He was panicking, but still hadn't opened his eyes.

"SAM!" Dean yelled.

"What's wrong with him? I'm calling the paramedics," the same person informed Dean.

"NO!" Dean responded. "Just help me get him to my car. He's dealing with the effects of a traumatic brain injury. I'm going to take him to the hospital myself." Dean's voice was forceful enough that several people moved to help him lift Sam. Dean made sure he cradled his brother's head carefully against him.

"You're okay, Sammy," he continued to soothe.

"NO!" Sam began to thrash just as they got him settled into the back of the Impala.

"Thank you all," Dean told the people that had helped with Sam. "I'm going to get a blanket out of the trunk and get him settled. Then we are going to the hospital." He stroked his brother's face as the crowd dispersed.

"Sam, buddy, don't climb over that wall; do you hear me?" Dean ordered firmly as he squeezed his brother's shoulder. "I need you to wake up for me."

Sam tossed his head from side to side and then groaned in pain.

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean pleaded as he held Sam's head still and gently patted the younger Winchester's cheek.

Sam's eyes opened to tiny slits and hope sliced through Dean. "That's it, Sam. That's my boy," he encouraged.

Sam blinked rapidly. "D'n?" he groaned.

"Hey, Sammy, welcome back," Dean grinned. "What was that fainting spell all about, Princess?"

Sam rubbed a shaky hand over his face and sighed heavily. Pain lines bracketed his mouth and his lips turned down in a frown.

Gently, Dean adjusted the hat covering his brother's head and tucked the blanket around him more securely. "Okay, Sammy, let's get you home and then you can tell me and Bobby what happened."

Dean slipped out of the backseat and shut the door gently before hurrying to the driver's side and climbing in. He glanced over the seat to see Sam wide awake and pale, his hands still trembling. Dean had no idea what had happened, but worry twisted sickly in his stomach. Had Sam's wall cracked? Was his brother teetering on the brink of insanity? He gunned the Impala's motor and drove as quickly as he dared back to Bobby's house.

To be continued...

* * *

 **Just a little shameless self promotion…I just posted the first chapter of my new story which is an AU tag to "On the Head of a Pin" called "The Breaking" Much Dean whumping and Sam and Cas working together. So check it out if you want to :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hope everyone had a good week, and I hope everyone has a fun Halloween-stay safe and remember what the boys taught you ;)**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallace**

Chapter Fifteen

Sam trembled on the backseat of the Impala, trying to make sense of what had happened. One minute, he had been trying to help Dean and then he couldn't breathe, and his head hurt and the next thing he knew he was in the car with Dean standing over him.

Except that wasn't everything that had happened. He squeezed his eyes shut as memories of the dream/vision—hallucination?—whatever it had been, played through his mind over and over. He reached up shaky hands and sandwiched them around his head, trying to ease the pounding. He noticed Dean glancing back at him every other second and wished he would just watch the road. He didn't want to get into another accident. He tried to concentrate on breathing, on listening to the steady, familiar rumble of the Impala's engine as they sped down the road, but he just kept flashing back to the dream he had had when he'd been unconscious.

* * *

 _He was back in hell, chained up and helpless while Lucifer taunted him. There was never a moment to rest, never a moment to think, just always pain and more pain and cruelty and manipulation. He could have dealt with the physical torture, but it was the mental that really wore him down in the end._

 _"Come on, Sam, do you really think this is going to work out for the best?"_

 _He tried to ignore Lucifer's taunts, tried to think of home, of Dean, but he couldn't, Lucifer wouldn't allow him._

 _"I mean, Dean could have been killed just now, you saw him almost get hit by the car. And there was nothing you could do about it. You might as well just give up, Sam."_

 _"H-how do you know?" Sam demanded, even though he knew this was a dream. Had to be a dream. "You're not really here."_

 _"Please," Lucifer scoffed. "You really think a little wall is going to keep me out? I never left, Sammy-boy. We're roomies here, you and I, isn't it fun?"_

 _"You're not real, I'm just dreaming," Sam said, closing his eyes, trying to wake up, because it_ was _a dream._

 _"Are you sure about that, Sam?"_

* * *

Sam had woken up after that chilling question to Dean's frantic shouting, but he couldn't shake the feeling the dream had left him. It had felt different than a typical nightmare. More like a flashback, but it couldn't have been, he wasn't supposed to remember anything from his time in hell and the Lucifer in the—whatever it was—had known about Dean's near accident. He knew this had to be his imagination overworking itself due to his panic attack or whatever it had been, but it had still scared him. A lot.

He hadn't even realized they stopped until he started at the sound of the door opening at his head and Dean staring down at him with Bobby now. "Sammy, come on, don't do this to me again. Let's get you inside."

"D'n," Sam tried but Dean shook his head.

"Don't talk, let's just get you inside to rest your noggin."

"You be careful with that knee of yours," Bobby told him as they pulled Sam almost bodily out of the car and supported him between them.

"It's fine," Dean growled, though Sam could tell by the way his body tensed that it wasn't. "I've had worse."

Bobby snorted but they were already inside the house and soon they were lowering Sam onto the bed in Bobby's study. Sam had to admit it was a relief to prop his head against a soft pillow, and he was too tired to fuss when Dean helped him change into sleep clothes to be more comfortable and got some water into him and a couple pain pills for his head. Sam stayed there with his eyes closed for a while, his arm folded over his face as he swam through the pain, and listened to Dean and Bobby mutter to each other and Dean's occasional hisses of pain as Bobby insisted on looking at his leg.

"This might not be something bad, Dean, at least not our kind of bad. Sam might actually need a hospital," Bobby was saying. "I mean, he doesn't look like a drooling mess like Cas said he would, but that doesn't mean he hasn't hurt his head in some normal physical way."

"I know, please stop," Dean snapped. "It's just…he seemed to fall straight into a nightmare, and he kind of actually was able to talk while he was in it. I just think we need to make sure before we haul him off to the hospital. Let's just hear what Sam has to say and then I'll call Cas to look at him."

Bobby gave a long sigh. "Fine, but I swear, you two idjits are going to be the death of me." Sam felt his warm, calloused hand on his arm and finally opened his eyes, seeing the older hunter smile at him. "How ya doing kiddo?"

Sam shrugged slightly and glanced over at Dean who had his hurt leg propped on another chair with an icepack and a worried expression on his face.

"Sammy, do you want to talk about it?"

Sam sighed in resignation, knowing there was no way to get out of it. Bobby got his board and Sam started to slowly write. _I was scared when the car hit you, I guess I had a panic attack. I'm feeling better now, really._

Dean took it when he had finished and read out loud so Bobby could hear. "Okay, I can see that being plausible, except this isn't exactly normal for you, Sam. I mean, I understand, I totally do, but that's because I went to hell too except apparently the popular opinion is that my tour wasn't anywhere near as bad as yours; and I can't imagine what could be worse than my time there. And you were hallucinating, or something, so what did you see?"

Sam shook his head slightly and took the board back, writing, _Can't remember._

"Sam," Dean growled warningly. "Come on, man, this is important."

Sam's hand trembled as he wiped the board clean and scribbled out a little more. _It was just a dream._

"Dreams don't happen like that, Sam, not that fast, not when you pass out," Dean told him, trying to keep his voice down, but failing. He shrugged Bobby off as the older man went to calm him down. "This could be important, tell us what happened."

Sam fidgeted, but knew Dean wasn't going to stop until he talked about this, so he quickly wrote out, _It was just another dream about hell, nothing unusual._

He realized his mistake before he could erase the words and Dean turned to him sharply. "Nothing unusual? How long as this been going on, Sam? Dammit, you should have told me you were dreaming of hell, you know what that can do to your head. This is exactly what we were afraid would happen!"

"D'n," Sam tried to call to his brother but Dean wasn't having it.

"No, Sam, I'm not going to give this one a pass. This could ruin your head for good, if your wall is slipping we've got to find a way to patch it before a flood of crap that, trust me, you don't want to remember, comes out and buries you!"

Sam's hands clenched in his lap, his head hurting as he wished Dean would just listen to him. "Dean stop!" he finally yelled with perfect clarity, and Dean did stop, him, Sam, and Bobby, and looked at each other for his outburst.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, as if not sure he had heard what he thought he had.

Sam was just as surprised as they were, he put a hand to his throat subconsciously and tried again. "D-Dean," he said, meeting his brother's eyes. "It'l b-be f-f-fine…'kay? I…" he broke off, shaking his head and turned back to his board to finish what he was trying to say.

 _We'll get through this, whatever it is, just like we always do. I trust_ _you-_ _US- to figure this out. It might just be residual trauma from the injury._

Dean sighed as he read it, running a hand through his hair. "Sammy, I swear to you that we will figure this out, you know that, but come on man. You gotta know this isn't just some normal thing. I am glad to hear you talk a little though. Maybe this panic attack—whatever it was—shook things up a bit. You can at least concentrate on talking again."

Sam nodded slowly. "'ll…t-try," he stammered, feeling pleased with himself for managing what he had been attempting to say.

"In the meantime, it's probably a good idea to call Cas and see what he thinks about this," Bobby suggested.

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

Sam really just wanted to rest, the trip and his attack having exhausted him, but he knew that Dean wasn't going to let him do anything, especially fall asleep, until he was sure the wall wasn't falling. He sipped at some water Bobby gave him and closed his eyes against his pounding head while he waited for Cas.

The angel came a little later and frowned as he saw Dean's newly injured leg. "You didn't get into another accident, did you?" he accused.

"Don't look at me like that," Dean shot back, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and wincing as he jarred the injured limb in question. "I wasn't driving. And Sam had some sort of panic attack that put him out for a couple minutes."

If Cas were human, he probably would have rolled his eyes, but as it was, he simply flattened his lips in a longsuffering look and turned to Sam, sitting on the side of the bed.

"Is it alright if I look at your head?" he asked.

Sam nodded once, wincing, and tried a "Y-yes." It was still hard and took a lot of concentrating but he felt good that he could at least find the words now even if he figured it would be a while before he was able to hold longer conversations again.

Cas looked slightly surprised and turned to Dean. "Can he…?"

"Not really well, but that's something that happened after his panic attack."

"Well, that's good, I suppose," the angel commented before turning back to the invalid Winchester. "Just close your eyes, Sam, it shouldn't be too unpleasant." Sam did as he was told and felt Cas' hand on his forehead then a kind of numbness that was sort of relaxing flow through his head, taking the pain of his headache away. It seemed Cas was there for a long time, and he almost fell asleep, when the angel drew his hand back finally, and the comforting numbness dissipated until the dull ache behind his eyes came back and he groaned slightly in the back of his throat, reaching a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose.

"Well?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head slightly. "I don't know what to tell you. There's nothing physically wrong with Sam, the wall still seems to be in place. I think this is just a natural result from the injury. It might have something to do with combined memories and simply worry about what happened. In any case, there's really nothing I can do for it. I would say resting up would be the best thing to do, Sam."

"That's it?" Dean demanded, sounding slightly testy.

The angel narrowed his eyes at him. "I would do more if I could, Dean. But I don't know much more than you do about Sam's condition."

"Come on, son, Cas is only trying to help," Bobby told Dean as the elder Winchester sighed deeply.

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. It's probably my fault anyway, nearly getting run over. I'm sure that's what triggered his panic attack and that's all it was." He looked over at Sam who was watching him closely. "What?"

"O-okay?" Sam asked him.

Dean huffed a short laugh. "Yeah, I'm fine, Samantha. Just worry about yourself, okay? Get some sleep."

Sam sighed through his nose and tried to settle onto the bed more comfortably. He opened his mouth, then huffed and grabbed his board writing, _Thanks, Cas._

The angel smiled. "I wish I could do more, Sam. I wish you a swift recovery." Then he was gone.

"He never sticks around anymore," Dean grumbled then turned to Sam. "Okay then, nap time. Want me to read you to sleep since it looks like Bobby's not going to let me up anytime soon with this icepack on my knee?"

Sam drifted off as Dean read to him, but his dreams were troubled and he felt like he never really allowed himself to sleep deeply because he was afraid of what might meet him on the other side. He woke later that night after the sun went down to hear Dean and Bobby talking in the kitchen over supper.

"I just need him to be okay, Bobby," Dean was saying, sounding tired in every sense of the word. "I'm just so tired of not getting a break. I mean, can't anything go smoothly for once?"

"That's life, kid," Bobby told him, not unkindly. "I know you need him back to full power again, but I think it's best you just let him rest. Your constant fretting might be hindering his recovery more than you realize. Maybe try letting him rest for a few days without hovering over him. I know he was in a coma, but he needs to sleep to rest his head. He'll get better with time, head injuries just take a while."

"I know, Bobby," Dean grunted. "It's just, with everything else that's been going on with him, how can I not worry? I mean, look at the wreck I was when I got back from hell. And he was in there three times as long and suffered even more than I did. Even if he doesn't remember it, it takes a lot out of a person. And I know he's not purposefully scratching the wall, but what about subconsciously? Who knows what his mind was doing while he was in the coma. And that job we worked several weeks ago with those spider freaks; he got flashes of his time when he was soulless. That might have already scratched the wall."

"If it has, we'll deal with it just like we would anything else," Bobby assured him. "You need to have a little faith in your brother, Dean."

"I do, Bobby," Dean sighed. "But, man, he's still my little brother, and I gotta look after him. But it's not just that. I want to keep him safe and I want to give him time to recover fully, hell, a vacation would be nice. But with all the other things going on, with the monsters and Crowley and all that, we need all hands on deck, and I don't know if I can even think about throwing him back out there. After what happened today, who knows what might happen in a fight. I don't know how long it will be before he's well enough to hunt again, or if he ever will be."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Bobby said grimly. "For now, let's just take each day as it comes."

"Yeah, all right."

Sam swallowed hard at Dean's words. Even his brother didn't trust him to have his back anymore, only confirming Sam's fears about his own abilities. It hurt, but it also made sense to Sam. He just hoped he would have the strength or the mental ability to come back from his injuries and get back into fighting shape. Because the only thing that scared him more than his wall falling was the thought of not being there to watch his brother's back.

He heard Dean push his chair back from the table. "I'm going to go see is Sam's awake enough to have something to eat."

Sam quickly closed his eyes again, not wanting to see his brother just then. He wanted to be alone for a while longer with his thoughts.

"Sammy?" Dean asked quietly, but Sam didn't shift. He heard Dean's slightly uneven footsteps come toward him and then Dean shifting his blankets up higher on his shoulders before resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Sleep tight, kiddo," he whispered tiredly before he left the room.

To be continued...

* * *

 **Also check out my new story "The Breaking" and AU to "On the Head of a Pin" if you wish :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter sixteen! Thanks as always to everyone who has reviewed and faved. So how did everyone like last week's episode "Baby"? I think it's a new favorite of mine :)**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Chapter Sixteen

Sam woke to the sun streaming through the dingy window of the upstairs room he was sharing with his brother at Bobby's house. His ever present headache throbbed behind his eyes, and he longed for the day when all remnants of his head injury would be a thing of the past. His speech was slowly returning, although he still stuttered a bit and stumbled over his words. His biggest frustration, however, was Dean. His older brother hovered and fussed over him constantly, always afraid that the wall holding back his thoughts of hell would be breached and come tumbling down.

Sam had to fight back the urge to snap at Dean, but didn't always succeed. He wanted things back to normal. He wanted to hunt with his brother and be an equal in their job of carrying out the family business. Sam wanted to have Dean's back instead of being a liability.

The youngest Winchester rolled out of bed slowly, the pounding in his head increasing. He opened the bottle of Tylenol that sat on the bedside table and shook two tablets into his hand before popping them into his mouth and take a swig of last night's warm, stale water. Sam grimaced before pushing himself to his feet and grabbing a change of clothes.

A hot shower helped to work the stiffness from his muscles, and the Tylenol took the edge off of his headache. Sam decided that after a cup of coffee he'd be in much better shape. He dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt before tugging a plaid flannel shirt on over it. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair before making his way downstairs to the kitchen.

Sam heard the clatter of the coffee pot as someone returned it to the stove and then heard his brother's sure-footed steps head back to the table. The old wooden chair squeaked as it accepted Dean's weight. When he entered the kitchen, Sam immediately felt Dean's eyes studying him. "M-morning," Sam greeted as he moved toward the stove.

"Sit," Dean ordered as he stood quickly and grasped his brother's arm, leading him to a chair at the table. "I'll get your coffee."

"Dean," Sam sighed. "I'm – I'm not an invalid," he muttered in frustration.

"Sit," Dean said with a growl.

Sam plunked into his chair with a gusty sigh, his gaze boring angrily into his brother's back. He was fine; he didn't need to be coddled.

"Here," Dean said a few moments later as he placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of his little brother. The older Winchester brother returned to the counter and popped two waffles into the toaster.

Sam rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. The hot liquid was just what he needed this morning. Bobby cleared his throat and Sam looked at the older hunter questioningly.

"Got a call this morning," he said simply.

Sam raised an eyebrow in a questioning look.

"Think there's a hunt not too far from here. Your brother and I are going to go take a look and see what's up." Bobby took off his battered trucker's hat and scratched his head before settling the cap down on top of his hair.

"Wh-what kind of-of hunt?" Sam asked, frowning as his words didn't want to cooperate.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Dean assured his brother as he placed a plate of waffles in front of Sam along with a bottle of syrup.

"Dean," Sam sighed, "I'm fine."

"Poltergeist," Bobby answered quietly. "Been terrorizing a family with three small children. They need our help. It should just be a simple salt and burn. They live in an old farm house out in the country. The cemetery is an old plot on the back of their land. Shouldn't take us too long to take care of things."

"Bobby and I will have each other's back, Sam," Dean assured his brother as he poured himself another mug of coffee.

Sam felt a slight prickle of hurt at the thought that his brother didn't really need him.

"You just need more time, Sam," Dean assured him. "We have to make sure the wall in your mind is secure."

Sam scowled. "I'm f-fine. The w-w-w…" He slammed his palm down on the table in frustration when he couldn't form the words and coffee sloshed over the rim of his cup. He had more trouble with his speech when he got upset.

"And that's exactly why you're staying here," Dean argued. "Look what happens when you get stressed."

Sam growled and stood up. "Screw y-you, Dean." He stormed up the stairs and flopped himself down on his bed. He closed his eyes and listened to the rumble of Bobby's and Dean's voices coming up through the floorboards. He knew they were packing for their hunt and his stomach twisted when he thought of his brother going after a poltergeist without him. Sure, Dean was an incredible and deadly hunter, trained since early childhood. But still, an angry poltergeist could be very nasty.

Sam flung an arm over his eyes to block out the sunlight streaming through the window. He drifted off to sleep to the sounds of Bobby and Dean packing the car.

* * *

 _It was a routine hunt. Sam followed his brother down the dark passageway. He wasn't sure where they were, but it was damp and smelled of rotting flesh. The scent made him want to gag. He looked down to find muddy water up to his ankles. It seeped through his shoes and soaked the bottom of his pants legs._

 _"You with me, Sammy?" Dean called over his shoulder._

 _"Right here, Dean," Sam responded quietly although his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he was sure that his brother could hear it. His stomach twisted nervously, and Sam knew that there was danger up ahead. He couldn't explain how; he just felt it, and he had to warn his brother._

 _Suddenly, just as Dean climbed up a set of uneven stone steps, the water around Sam's feet rose and he found himself nearly washed away down what he now saw was a tunnel. He gasped in shock as the water turned freezing cold. It felt as if shards of ice were stabbing his legs._

 _"Sam!" Dean yelled just as a hunched shape appeared in the darkness._

 _Sam's eyes widened and he tried to cry out only to feel the water pull him under. It filled his nose and his mouth; he couldn't breathe. He fought his way to the surface to hear Dean scream in pain as the creature they were hunting attacked him, its claws tearing into his body._

 _Sam tried to climb out of the water, but the current was too strong. He couldn't get any sound to come out of his mouth. It was like he was still drowning even though his head was above the surface. He had to get to his brother; he had to save Dean._

 _Tears streamed down his cheeks as he heard his brother crying out for him, sobbing in pain and misery. Sam fought harder, bringing his hands to his face as if to clear the water from his mouth. It was only when the creature dropped Dean's lifeless, bloody body to the ground that Sam was suddenly able to move. He climbed, shaking and weak, from the water to find that the monster had vanished._

 _Collapsing at Dean's side, he shook his brother. "Dean! Dean, don't do this. You have to wake up. Dean!" He listened for breath sounds, but there were none. Dean's body was cold, his eyes open and unseeing. "Don't you die on me, Dean," Sam growled, beginning chest compressions on his brother's stiff, cold form. "Dean, please."_

 _He worked for what seemed like hours, but Dean was gone. His eyes were blank and lifeless, his body stiff. Sam sobbed brokenly. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry." He fell against his brother's chest, Dean's blood smearing all over his face, hands, and shirt, but he didn't care._

* * *

Sam sat up with a start, his brother's name a scream on his lips. Sweat trickled down his face and his shirt clung to his damp chest. He struggled to fill his lungs with air, and his head pounded in rhythm with his heartbeat. Reaching up a shaky hand, Sam swiped his hair out of his face and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The nightmare had been so vivid; he could almost smell the coppery scent of his brother's blood.

Sam pushed off the bed with a grunt and headed for the bathroom where he splashed cool water on his face and brushed his teeth. Feeling slightly better, he headed downstairs to find his brother and Bobby. There was no way he was letting Dean go on this hunt without him.

The kitchen was empty when Sam made his way downstairs. He frowned. Usually there was a pot of coffee sitting on the stove, but this afternoon there was nothing. Sam went out of the backdoor and froze as his booted feet landed on the wooden floorboards. The Impala was gone.

"Bobby!" he called as he moved toward the garage and tried the door. It was locked.

Sam cursed and kicked an empty bucket that sat beside the door. They'd left him behind. Anger roiled through him and he felt his face flush hot. He wasn't an invalid. He was fine. There was no reason that he couldn't hunt. Or, maybe they didn't trust him to have their backs. Sam's stomach twisted sourly at the thought.

Memories of his nightmare rushed through his mind then, and Sam felt the sudden urge to get to his brother. He shoved his sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead and hurried into the house. Sam took the stairs two at a time and hurriedly shoved supplies into his duffle. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he bounded down the stairs.

Sam dropped his duffle at the backdoor and then hurried into Bobby's study. Settling at the rickety old desk covered in scattered papers and articles, Sam began to look for clues as to where Bobby and Dean were heading. With a few vague clues and a little online research, Sam thought he had pinpointed the hunt Bobby and Dean had chosen. He dug a bit more online until he had an address and then shut down the laptop. Sam typed the address into his phone and then headed into the kitchen. He snatched Bobby's truck keys off of the hook by the backdoor and hurried outside. He had a bad feeling about this hunt.

* * *

 _Dean's fingers clenched_ the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He gnawed his bottom lip anxiously; he hated leaving Sam behind. It was true that he didn't think Sammy was ready for a hunt yet; he didn't want to take any chances with the wall holding back Sam's horrid memories. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"Sure is windy over there," Bobby commented gruffly.

"What?" Dean asked, startled from his thoughts at the sound of Bobby's voice.

"You've been doing a lot of sighing since we left my place. Got something on your mind?" Bobby shifted in the seat so he could stare at Dean.

The older Winchester breathed another sigh. "I hate to leave Sam when he's still recovering."

"Dean, you know he won't take to being coddled. He says he's ready to hunt. Maybe you should let him." Bobby eyed the younger hunter steadily.

Dean shook his head. "NO, he's not ready. If that wall comes down….." He trailed off, his face set in a worried frown.

Bobby just pressed his lips together to keep from responding as Dean pulled the Impala to a stop in front of an old farmhouse with white siding, green shutters, and a tin roof. The family was gone for the evening; Bobby had made sure to send them away so that they were free to hunt the poltergeist. The older hunter got out and stretched, the muscles in his back protesting the hours sitting in the car.

Dean tugged the keys from the ignition and clenched them in his fist. His thoughts kept returning to his younger brother no matter how many times he attempted to redirect them to the hunt at hand. In his mind, he could see a much younger Sam trailing behind him on one of the younger brother's first hunts.

 _"Are you doin' okay back there, Sammy?" Dean asked his younger brother. His stomach twisted nervously as he tried to focus on hunting the black dog and keeping his younger brother safe at the same time. Sammy was too young to be on this hunt, but their father wouldn't listen to him._

 _"Fine, Dean," Sammy answered, his voice only a tiny bit wobbly. The twelve-year-old hadn't wanted to come on the hunt. He preferred staying at home studying his school books. Their father, however, had insisted that Sam begin to learn the basics of hunting. A pack of black dogs was terrorizing the area around an old grave yard, and John Winchester decided that he and his sons would be able to take care of the problem. He'd sent Dean and Sammy to take out a rogue dog that had escaped from the small pack._

 _A rustle sounded in the leaves ahead of them. Dean tensed, his weapon gripped tightly in his hand._

 _"What was that?" Sam whispered, his voice tight with fear._

 _A huge black dog lunged from the undergrowth toward the youngest Winchester. Dean swung around to defend his brother just as the dog leapt through the air. Dean shot at the animal and its lifeless body landed on top of Sammy taking the young preteen down to the ground._

 _"Sammy!" Dean screamed. He dropped to the ground at his little brother's side, terrified that Sam had been hurt because he'd been too slow to react. "Sam, are you all right?" He pushed with all of his strength to heave the body of the black dog to the side._

 _Sam was pale, covered in the dog's blood, and panting hard to catch his breath after the weight of the dead animal had knocked the air from his lungs. "I'm 'kay," he wheezed as he groped frantically for Dean's arm and gripped it tightly._

"Dean!"

Bobby's voice ripped the eldest Winchester from his thoughts with a jolt. Dean opened the Impala's door and stepped out into the cool night air. He made his way to the trunk where the men procured shovels, guns loaded with rock salt, and a few other supplies before they made their way through the darkness to the old, overgrown graveyard at the back of the property.

It took a bit of searching with the flashlight to find the grave they were looking for; both men dropped their gear to the ground and began to dig in silence. The first hint that something was wrong was the sudden chill in the air. Both Dean and Bobby tensed and looked up.

"Better get the shotgun," Dean warned his companion.

Just as Bobby's fingers closed around the gun, the wind blew wildly. An invisible force picked up the older hunter and flung him through the air. His body slammed into a crumbling tombstone and crumpled to the ground.

"Bobby!" Dean yelled.

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

**Well everyone, there's only one chapter after this so we're coming to an end. Thanks so much for everyone who has read and reviewed this story! :)**

 **This chapter was written by: LadyWallave**

Chapter Seventeen

Sam drove as quickly as possible to his destination, his hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white. This was the first time he had driven since the accident and he was nervous about it, but his fear for Dean and Bobby far outweighed that. His nightmare played itself over and over in his head before he finally had to force himself to think of something else when he almost missed the turn-off for the farmhouse the poltergeist was supposedly at. It was already dark and Sam hoped that maybe Dean and Bobby had already finished the salt and burn and possibly they were actually on their way back. It was even possible he had missed them and they would be back home and Dean would be royally furious that Sam had run off, but at least he would be alive.

But he knew that wasn't the case. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach protested the fact that everything was going to go smoothly. He knew their luck better than that.

He was angry they had left him behind. It wasn't like he couldn't dig a grave up; he had gotten most of his strength back and hardly had dizzy spells anymore. He was just afraid that if Dean got used to hunting without him, he would continue to do so even after Sam was fully recovered, not needing his little brother anymore to watch his back. Sure, in the past Sam would have jumped at the chance to get out of the life, but he and Dean had realized that they were better off together, back to back, than they were apart. At least he hoped Dean still realized that.

He pulled off another side road, thinking this was the last one, the pale moonlight eerily illuminating the dirt road that led to the house where the haunting was taking place. The bad feeling only got worse the closer Sam got and he practically barreled Bobby's truck over the front lawn of the property and barely cut the engine before he was stumbling out of the vehicle, snatching his shotgun from the passenger seat. He looked around, wondering where Dean and Bobby were when he heard a sudden shout and the sound of shotguns firing on the opposite side of the house.

Heart in his throat, Sam broke into a run, racing to his brother's side before it was too late.

* * *

" _Bobby!"_ Dean cried as he rushed toward the fallen hunter, looking around for the ghost as he did so.

Bobby was already crawling to his hands and knees, groaning as he snatched his lost hat, looking up as his eyes widened. "Dean, behind you!"

Dean spun, but wasn't able to get his gun up fast enough as the ghost manifested itself and threw him roughly to the ground. The breath was knocked from Dean's body and the shotgun flew from his hand. He rolled, reaching for it and grabbed it just in time to shoot off a spatter of rock salt as the ghost reached for him again. He leapt to his feet and looked to Bobby who was searching the graves for the right one.

"Cover me, I'll dig!" he shouted and Dean ran over to join him as the older hunter started frantically stabbing through the grass covering the grave. Dean saw the ghost manifest itself again, and shot once more, knowing it wasn't going to do much good.

"Hurry, Bobby!"

"I ain't as young as I used to be, boy!" the hunter gritted out. "I told you we should have brought Sam along."

Dean gritted his teeth, not wanting to get into that argument now. Another wave of freezing air hit the back of his neck and Dean spun around just in time to get hit in the shoulder with a two-by-four. Another strike smashed the gun from his hands, and the next slammed into his ribs, bringing him to his knees as he felt one or two crack at the impact. He looked up at the ghost standing over him and cringed in preparation for the next blow but heard the report of a shotgun over his head as Bobby snatched up his fallen weapon and shot it.

The ghost disappeared again as Dean staggered to his feet. "Salt ring!" Bobby told him.

Dean grabbed the container of salt and spilled a ring around the grave as Bobby continued digging and then jumped over the salt and joined the older hunter, furiously shoveling through dirt and roots as quickly as was possible.

Finally, Bobby struck the coffin and they cleared the last of the dirt away before Dean slammed his shovel into the old lid, breaking it open without ceremony.

"Okay, quick," he said before Bobby was suddenly flung backwards out of the grave.

"Bobby!" Dean cried, reaching for the shotgun but was unable to before the ghost manifested, slamming the two-by-four into the side of his head.

Dean dropped into the grave, vaguely wondering how the salt line had broken. He landed on top of the broken coffin, feeling splinters dig into his flesh. He cried out and struggled to get upright, his hand slipping into the broken lid and right through the skeleton's ribcage. He looked up through the blood that was seeping from his forehead and saw the ghost standing over him, readying another blow, likely the final one.

Then another report of a shotgun came and the ghost vanished in a spattering of rock salt that showered Dean who quickly covered his face. He looked up again only to see not Bobby standing there, but Sam.

"Sammy?" he asked, confused, wondering how hard he had hit his head. "What're you doing?"

"S-saving your ass, apparently," Sam said, with only a slight stutter. "H-hurry!" He bent to grab Dean and help him from the grave. Dean groaned but scrambled up, knowing some of the splinters came with him. Sam was trembling slightly, but he seemed relieved to see Dean in one piece. More or less.

"Boys!"

Bobby's shout came with another shot, but Dean was suddenly flung a good twenty feet before he slammed into another gravestone, taking it out from the impact and lying still in the crumbled remains.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, wanting to run to his brother, but knowing he had to finish the job first. He grabbed the salt and the lighter fluid standing nearby and liberally doused the grave with them before he pulled a lighter from his pocket and threw it into the fire as it lit, amazingly, on the first try.

There was an unearthly scream as the ghost went up in flames, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief before he hurried over to his brother who was still lying in the heap of broken stone, unmoving.

"Dean!" he cried, as Bobby joined him.

He fell to his knees beside Dean and touched his shoulder gently, turning him onto his side to see the damage that had been done. There was blood all over Dean's face and his back and hands had some splinters sticking from them.

"Dean, come on, please wake up!" Sam pleaded, his heart in his throat, trying to get his trembling fingers to find a pulse in his brother's neck. "I can't lose you, Dean. You're not allowed to leave."

He didn't even notice he wasn't stuttering as Bobby crouched beside him, a worried look on his face.

"Dean!" Sam cried, shaking him more violently than he should have.

Dean's pale eyelids fluttered as a groan escaped his throat. His eyes opened and he looked up to see Sam's teary face hovering over him.

"S'mmy?" he murmured.

"Yeah, it's me, Dean," Sam said, a wavering grin spreading over his lips as he reached down to help his brother sit up. Dean groaned, one arm wrapped around his middle and the other hanging somewhat awkwardly, looking like a dislocated shoulder. "Come on, let's get you taken care of."

Bobby bent to help Sam haul Dean to his feet and they pulled him back to the cars between them, the elder Winchester leaning heavily on his companions.

"You're not stuttering anymore," he murmured to Sam, somehow managing a lopsided smile at his brother.

Sam was startled at the revelation, but realized Dean was right. "Yeah, I guess I'm not."

"Maybe all you needed was a little action," Bobby said. "Hunting's good for ya."

Sam cracked a smile as Dean grunted. "I'm gonna have to disagree at the moment."

Sam sobered, knowing Dean really was in a bad way. He and Bobby got him into the passenger seat of the Impala, and Sam handed Bobby his truck keys a little sheepishly. "Sorry I took your truck, but I just had the feeling you two were going to need backup."

Bobby shook his head. "Well, I can't say that was a lie. Glad to have you back, kid."

Sam smiled before he hurried back to the Impala and got in, ready to drive his brother back. Dean was leaning against the window, eyes closed and sitting awkwardly because there were still some splinters sticking from his back. There wasn't anything Sam could do about that just then though, he wanted to get back to Bobby's where Dean would be comfortable.

Once they got back, it was time to perform first aid, through which Dean whined and cursed at them. Though Sam couldn't really blame him, his brother was pretty beat up; several splinters had gone deep into the muscles between his shoulders and he had three cracked ribs and a concussion, not to mention the dislocated shoulder that Bobby popped back to Dean's howl, before he bundled it up in a sling.

After Sam cleaned the blood from Dean's face and butterflied the cut on his forehead, he brought Dean a glass of water and some pain medicine, which Dean took gratefully without a complaint. Sam's face twisted as he watched Dean shift, uncomfortable, propped up against several pillows in the bed so his ribs wouldn't cause more damage, and his face one big bruise. He cracked his one good eye open and stared at Sam.

"What?"

Sam shook himself realizing he had been staring. "Nothing, just… I was so afraid I would lose you, that I wouldn't be there to protect your back. Or…or that you didn't want me."

Dean squinted slightly. "Why wouldn't I want you there, Sammy? We're a team, right?"

Sam shifted awkwardly. "Just because you thought I was a liability."

Dean shook his head with a huff. "Sam, I never meant that to be a definitive thing. It was just because I was afraid you weren't recovered fully. Look, Sammy, I was only worried about you for your own safety. I mean, come on man, you went through brain surgery! And the whole thing with the hell memories and the wall…just, give me that at least. I'm not trying to treat you like a baby, I just don't want to lose you either."

Sam softened and sat down on the side of the bed. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry Dean. I guess we still need to get better at talking to each other about that kind of stuff."

"In any case, you saved me tonight. Thanks for that." He smiled and cringed as his split lip cracked more.

"Yeah, that ghost was really kicking your ass," Sam chuckled.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean grunted. "I could have taken it."

"Whatever, jerk."

That seemed to put Dean at ease, and he settled back more comfortably on the pillows. "But seriously, Sammy, I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

"Me too," Sam said sincerely, and watched as Dean's eyes drifted shut, finally giving into the exhaustion. Sam pulled the quilt over top of him before he crossed the room and climbed into his own bed, lulled to sleep by the deep breathing of his brother.

To be Continued...


	18. Epilogue

**Well everyone, here's the end, just a fluffy little epilogue for you :) We want to thank everyone who has followed this story, letting us know what you think always means a lot. Keep a look out for whatever we write next and check out our individual stories in the meantime :)**

 **This chapter was written by: AnastaziaDanielle**

Epilogue

Dean settled back in the lopsided old recliner in Bobby's living room, plopped his unfinished bag of popcorn on the end table, and watched his younger brother sleep soundly on the too-short couch. Sam's long, gangly legs hung over one of the sofa's arms and his head was propped on an old pillow that rested on the other end of the couch. Sam shifted in his sleep, his face scrunching up in the beginning of a nightmare.

Ignoring the bruises that still ached a bit and the sling that rubbed on the back of his neck, Dean rose from the chair and crossed to the couch. He placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed.

Sam's eyes shot open and he blinked blearily up at his brother. "Hmmm…wha….?" he murmured.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Dean prodded. "You were having a dream." He hated disturbing his little brother's sleep, but that was better than allowing the kid to suffer through a nightmare.

Sam sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face before reaching up to smooth the soft brown hair that was slowly growing back. "How long was I out?" he asked around a yawn.

"Maybe an hour," Dean replied as he used his good hand to fidget with the sling.

"Dude, leave that thing alone," Sam fussed, swatting his brother's hand away from the strap that secured Dean's arm close to his body.

"It's cutting through my neck," Dean whined as he carefully situated himself back in the recliner and fussed once more with the sling.

Sam heaved a sigh and stood, stretching the kinks of out his muscles before moving to his brother's chair and adjusting the sling so it fell on top of the collar of his Dean's shirt. "Better?" he asked.

Dean gave a quick nod. "Thanks, Sammy." He squirmed restlessly in the chair and reached for the remote. "You know, we've gotta find us a hunt soon. The walls of this house are closing in on me."

"No way!" Sam protested. "Not until your shoulder heals at least."

Dean grabbed a handful of popcorn from the unfinished bag on the table next to the chair and launched it at his brother.

"Hey!" Sam huffed as he side-stepped the soft white kernels while tossing a smirk at his older brother. He actually couldn't wait for Dean to heal so that they could get back to hunting. Saving people, hunting things – the family business – and that meant having Dean's back. Knowing that Dean wanted him at his side was a soothing balm to Sam's weary soul. With a playful grin, he snatched some popcorn from the floor and hurled it back at his brother.

"Hey, no fair! I'm an invalid!" Dean growled.

"Would you two idjits stop trashing my house?" Bobby yelled from the kitchen. "The two of you are going to drive me nuts if you can't get back to hunting soon."

Dean pressed his lips together in an attempt not to laugh as he caught his brother's eye. His body was healing and the wall protecting Sammy's mind was still in place. Soon they could get back on the road and life would resume its normal pace. He grabbed another handful of popcorn and launched it at Sam who once again side-stepped the attack.

"Dean Winchester!" Bobby growled from the doorway. "I'm gonna tan your hide if you don't stop tormenting your brother and destroying my house." The hunter turned his eyes toward Sam. "And you," he growled, pointing at the younger Winchester, "stopping egging him on. I swear, it's like living with children."

Dean rolled his eyes and smirked at his brother. It felt good to know that things were getting back to normal.

Bobby grumbled under his breath as he returned to the kitchen. The Winchester brothers just looked at one another and grinned.

The End


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